


Everything Else

by disarm_d



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-09
Updated: 2008-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/pseuds/disarm_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Brendon already has Shane in every other way. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Else

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to for betaing, to for the suggestions, to for helping me so much, and to for the much appreciated encouragement. ♥!

"Last show," Brendon sings, holding the 'o' until his breath runs out. He looks over his shoulder, giving a quick check around the room. Spencer's pushing at his bangs as he adjusts his headband; Jon's sipping from a red cup; Ryan's smoothing his fingers over the front of his vest. Shane is on the couch, his camera up to his face.

"What are you filming?" Brendon asks.

"You," Shane says. "Any last words before your final show?"

"We're going to rock tonight!" Brendon shouts, throwing up his fist and bouncing around the room.

Spencer whoops loudly, and Jon raises his cup in a salute.

Brendon advances toward Shane, bending at the waist so that he can get his face right into the camera. He always likes to help Shane get the really awesome closeups of his nose.

Staring straight into the lens, he says in a low voice, "We sure are in for a show tonight," then pulls back in one quick motion, wiggling his eyebrows the whole time.

Ryan groans loudly and throws a half-full water bottle at Brendon's head.

\--

It's always a little embarrassing to just walk into clubs. Ryan loves it, though, so he leads. The bouncer recognizes them and nods, holding the door open. It wouldn't work everywhere, but they can definitely get into Vegas clubs without too much trouble. As Brendon walks up the short set of stairs, he can hear a guy pestering the bouncer, "But how do I get it back?"

"We don't give fake IDs back," the bouncer says.

"It's not, it's not fake," the guy says, talking in a low voice.

"You made it on your printer."

And then Brendon's inside the building and the music is too loud to hear the rest of the conversation.

There isn't a VIP section or anything, but they walk inside and someone gestures them over to a booth, which is miraculously empty even though the place is totally packed. Ryan and Keltie, and Spencer and Haley sit on one side of the booth. Jon has a flight back to Chicago tomorrow, and he orders a round of Dr. Peppers for the whole table.

"Where's Regan?" Brendon shouts, leaning in close to Shane. "Is she going to be here soon?"

"Oh, shit, I forgot to call her," Shane says, and then they all have to shuffle over so that he can get out of the booth, pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking for somewhere quiet.

By the time he gets back, the drinks are there and everyone's trying to explain to Haley how to drink it. She isn't 21 yet, and she usually just laughs while Spencer gets wasted, but it's always more fun when everyone's drinking.

Brendon picks up the shot glass and waits for Shane to pick up his so that they can clink the glasses together. They drop the glasses into the beer and the rest of the table cheers as they duck down to try and suck up the head before the drinks overflow. Brendon pretty much manages, but Shane's slops over onto the table.

Brendon picks up his glass and slams the rest of his drink.

"Everyone's coming back to our place after we're done here," Brendon tells Shane. He laughs at the face Haley makes when her drink starts to foam up, Spencer leaning in and touching her wrist to try and encourage her to drink faster. "Smoke some chronic before bed."

"Yeah, sweet," Shane says. He sets his empty glass back on the table.

Brendon just had a couple of beers backstage, which means that it's after midnight and he's still only half-buzzed, and fuck that.

"You wanna go to the bar and do a couple of shots?" he asks, speaking loudly enough that everyone will be able to hear him, but looking mainly at Shane.

"Sure," Shane says. Brendon does a cursory glance around the table, but no one else is done their drink yet.

"I want, like, rye," Shane says.

"The fuck?" Brendon asks. "You're an old man now?"

"What, we're going to do body shots again?" Shane asks, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not licking _your_ hairy arm," Brendon says.

"You can lick my hairy ass," Shane says.

"Ooh, promise?" Brendon deadpans. "Jager?"

"Ugh," Shane says. Then, "Yeah, okay, fine."

\--

Brendon ends up doing body shots off of Michelle, who has breasts that are all squished up to create this soft, like, shelf — heh, _rack_ , that's probably why they call it that — that Brendon keeps trying to put the empty shot glasses on.

He tries to set another one down, but all three end up falling off. At least they land on the bar instead of falling onto the ground. Brendon is totally going to head back to his table, soon. He just has to finish up here first. He knocks back another shot, not even tequila anymore because they've run out of limes, then holds up the shot glass, blinking a couple of times while the burning in his throat fades away slowly.

He squints at her cleavage, then carefully tucks the glass in between her breasts, because he's a _genius_. He runs his fingers around the small rim of the glass, just checking that it's secure, then lets his fingers trail down sticky skin. Maybe he should have been more careful to check that the shot glasses were completely empty.

He looks up at Mary and beams. She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are flushed which either means that she's amused or that she's drunk, and either way Brendon is totally golden here.

The fabric of Melissa's top digs into her skin and there's this bulge of boob that Brendon doesn't want to stop fingering. He doesn't know how it's possible that her nipple hasn't popped out, but breasts have many magical qualities that he knows better than to question. Brendon's hands are very far away from his body and he's not even quite sure what his fingers are doing, but really what he wants is to just _squeeze_ them together, and, man. He had his hand up her skirt earlier. She'd grabbed his wrist, just holding, not pulling him away, and he wasn't sure if that had meant 'stop' or not. He could feel that she was wet, but the angle was awkward, so he stopped before too long.

He glances around the room, looking to see if there's a bathroom nearby. It looks like there's a line up to the bathroom. Somewhere along the way he's lost Shane, but he can see where the rest of the guys are sitting at the booth.

"Listen, listen, Miranda," he starts.

Her body goes tight and she starts to frown. Brendon pulls his hands away, grudgingly.

"Marie," she says.

" _Marie_ ," Brendon repeats, smiling winningly. "Marie, listen. We should totally go outside and get some air. Seriously, just to get some air."

Her face is still all skeptical, so Brendon cups his hand gentle around her arm, just above her elbow, and strokes soft circles with his thumb. He ducks his head down, leaning in even closer so that he doesn't sound so much like he's yelling.

"It's a nice night," he says. "We could just go for a little walk."

"It is a little stuffy in here," she says.

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. "So stuffy."

\--

"Jesus," Brendon says. "Yeah, yeah, just like that."

Brendon probably wouldn't have actual-sex outside a club — mostly because it would be difficult to find a girl who was tiny enough that he could actually hold her up against a wall; that is just _much_ more difficult than it looks in movies — but there's nothing wrong with getting a blowjob. He still has his pants on and everything, they're just unzipped and pulled down a little. This hardly even counts as public sex.

Marie has really pretty hair on the top of her head. Brendon can't see much more than that, but he can totally see her hair. Probably if it were sunny right now, her hair would be shiny. It's not sunny though; it's night and also Brendon tried to find the darkest spot he could when he first pushed Marie up against the wall and kissed her. The good thing about hooking up with girls after they've had a few drinks is that their lipstick has worn away. Sometimes lip stuff tastes good — Ryan had this coconut-y stuff that Brendon used to steal and lick straight out of the tube — but mostly it's all weirdly sticky. Brendon doesn't like when he gets lipstick smeared all over his chin. It's like when he goes down on a girl and his whole face gets wet, even the top of his cheeks, and then it feels all tight when it dries, and what the heck _is_ that stuff anyway? It's not like when guys come; it's just something that's there, and kind of slimy, but then when it dries it gets all flaky, which is really just weird.

Marie might be deep throating him, but Brendon keeps getting distracted listening for sounds. They're at the bottom of the staircase leading out of the back of the club, which means that they'd probably have a bit of warning before someone came down, unless the person came from the street, and then Brendon doesn't know if he'd actually hear anything.

Marie gives good head and Brendon is totally going to be coming pretty soon. The thing about girls is that the ones who make the most fuss about following him to somewhere private are totally the girls who give the best head. The eager girls who ask if he wants to go to the bathroom or whatever always end up being the ones who have to use the toilet to throw up, or who get all shy when he unzips his jeans, or something, but Marie put up just enough fuss and now she's bobbing up and down in this tight rhythm and Brendon is totally going to come. He's right on the edge and the moment stretches on and on and he doesn't know when he's actually going to shoot, but he knows it's going to be soon. It's harder to judge an orgasm from a mouth than from a hand; easiest yet to judge how long before he comes when he's fucking someone.

He's been gone from the table for a while now, so he should probably focus on coming. He considers touching her hair, but it's kind of bouncy and curly, which probably means that his fingers would get stuck, and while most girls don't make a fuss if he pulls their hair, it's still best not to.

He pushes his hands flat against the wall and tips his head back. He doesn't even really think about anything in particular, just focuses on the warmth and the way the flare of pleasure from when she licks over the head of his dick spreads all the way down, how it makes everything tighter, wrenching up the tension another notch, and then another, and then he grits his teeth and comes, forgetting to make a noise to warn her. They're outside, anyway, so she can just spit onto the ground if she wants to.

He doesn't actually know what she ends up doing, but her mouth stays on his dick the whole way through orgasm, and it's _good_ and by the time Brendon's brain turns back on, she's standing up, leaning against the wall beside him. Her makeup is smeared around the eyes, and her face is shiny, like from sweat or from drinking too much. Brendon definitely knows that he's sweating, and he's probably had too much to drink as well.

He turns toward her, reaching for her cheek. He'll kiss her now. It's not as if he _likes_ kissing someone after they've just gone down on him, but it's a good thing to do so he doesn't mind. She just pecks him on the lips, which is nice. If she had started trying to make out with him, that would mean that she wanted more, and it's not like there's much he could do in a back alley. Plus, he totally has to get back to the table now. Everyone's going back to Shane and his place afterwards, so it's not like he'd lose them, but still. It sucks having to take a cab back by himself.

She doesn't open her mouth, just pecks him on the lips and lets him lead her back into the club. He means to ask for her phone number — he _does_ — but Shane's right there when he walks toward the table, saying in an annoyed voice, "Dude, we're going. Get your shit from coat check already," and then Brendon has to run off to collect his coat and then they're hailing a cab, two cabs because there are too many of them for just one, and as he sits in the back seat, sandwiched between Shane and Jon, he realizes that he has forgotten to say goodbye.

 _Whoops_ , he thinks, then giggles to himself, just because he's drunk and warm between Shane and Jon and they're done with the tour and it was _awesome_ , and his body is all loose and blowjobs are awesome, and he didn't even have to deal with promising to call her tomorrow or anything.

Tonight's a good night.

\--

*

\--

Brendon wakes and has to squint at the clock for a long minute before he can confirm that it really is only ten a.m., what the _fuck_? He's not wearing his glasses, so he wonders if maybe the zero is actually a two — not that noon would be much better than ten — but, no. It's totally ten a.m. and Brendon's fucking awake, and people didn't even start leaving until after six this morning.

He flings himself over, lying on his other side and burrowing his head into the pillow. The sheets are sticking to his skin and he's sweating like a motherfucker. His tongue is so dry that he can't even swallow, and when he finally works up a trickle of saliva, his throat clenches and burns when he forces a swallow.

He pushes the sheets away, but he's kind of cold so he ends up pulling them back up. He wishes he didn't have so much hair, because his bangs are sticking to his forehead and his scalp is itchy and damp.

He lies on his back and pulls his hands up to rub at his face, trying to push his hair away. His fingers smell like smoke and kind of like spunk, but he didn't even jerk off last night so that must be from when he slid his hand up that chick's skirt when they were sitting at the bar. Has it really been that long since he washed his hands?

Brendon hates the smell of old smoke on his skin, and his eyes start to sting after he rubs them. He needs a fucking shower, but it's the first day off he's had in weeks and weeks and Brendon had planned on sleeping until dinner time.

At least there's no one else in bed with him; Brendon fucking hates waking up with someone else when he's hung over.

He lies in bed for another fifty minutes trying to will himself back to sleep, before giving up and stumbling to the shower. The first moment under the hot water feels so good that his eyes roll back in his head.

He leans against the tiled wall, squinting at the drain and trying to decide if he's going to throw up. It's a little touch and go when he starts washing his hair — has his shampoo always smelled so strongly?— but he makes it through the shower and crawls back into bed feeling three million times better.

\--

He wakes a few hours later, sweating like a motherfucker. The sheets are sticking to his skin again. At least his scalp doesn't feel gritty anymore.

\--

"I want to, like, fucking burn my sheets or something," Brendon says. He and Shane are on the couch, both of their feet up on the coffee table. Brendon is slouched down so low that his ass is almost off the edge. "They smell like, like, fucking, like toxins," Brendon says, slowly.

"They smell like your skanky ass, you mean," Shane says. His hands are resting on his stomach and his chin resting on his chest. He totally isn't watching TV at all.

"You wish you could smell my skanky ass," Brendon says. "Anyway, suck my dick. I can totally smell you from all the way over here."

"We're like two feet apart," Shane says.

"And I can smell you," Brendon says.

"Sorry I wasn't able to shower," Shane says. "It might have been because you were in there all fucking morning. How many times do you have to jerk off in one day? Jesus."

Brendon lifts one hand, then lifts one finger.

They sit in silence until finally Brendon says, "I think I want to eat, but then I might have to go puke in your underwear drawer."

"Have another banana and shut the fuck up," Shane says. His eyes are closed.

"You're doing to paralyse yourself if you sleep like that," Brendon says. He stands, then tugs on Shane's foot, guiding him over to the couch. Shane lies down on his back and Brendon heads to the kitchen for another banana.

\--

"What do you wanna do tonight?" Brendon asks, lying on Shane's bed.

Shane turns his head. He's standing in front of his closet, hanging up shirts, his open suitcases on the floor beside him.

 

"Hmm," Shane says. "Gee, yeah, that's a hard call."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "After you finish acting like a little bitch, I mean. How long can unpacking take?"

"Why don't you unpack your shit and then let me know," Shane says. He holds up a shirt, shakes it a few times, then holds it up again. "Is this mine?" he asks.

"There's no point in unpacking since everything needs to be washed anyway," Brendon says. "You're hanging up dirty clothes. I don't know if that shirt is yours, but I do know that it smells like ass."

"Some of us did laundry on tour," Shane says.

"Yeah, Zack."

Brendon flaps one hand then drops his back onto the bed. He's lying like a starfish, his legs spread and his arms out to the sides.

He takes deep breaths, using his diaphragm to pull air in, his belly lifting with each inhalation. His head hurts and his skin feels tight, but at least he's not nauseated any more.

"Shane," he says, after not too many minutes. "Should we go somewhere? Do you maybe want to try and catch a show or something?"

"Oh my god," Shane says, walking over from the closet. He shoves Brendon's leg out of the way and sits on the bed, saying, "You're such a little bitch when you first get off tour."

"I'm antsy," Brendon says. He's actually so fucking tired that he thinks he might die, and not even just from being hung over; his body is all tight and shivery and the house is fucking _quiet_.

"I know," Shane says. "But if we go out again tonight then you're going to be even worse tomorrow. You need to get some fucking sleep, and then tomorrow we need to get groceries and get Dylan from Regan."

"I can't sleep," Brendon says. "It's only ten."

"Then just go lie quietly," Shane says, smacking Brendon's belly, just gently, with his open hand.

Brendon rolls his eyes. That's what his parents used to tell him all the time when he was a kid.

"I'm not going to fall asleep," he says, which is also what he always used to say.

Shane makes little tickly fingers and Brendon squirms away, rolling off the side of the bed and landing on his feet. He nearly trips over one of Shane's suitcases on his way out.

He stands in the doorway to his bedroom, glaring at his messy bed with the skanky toxic sheets before remembering that they actually have more than one set of bedding for each bed.

He changes his sheets, leaving the dirty ones in a pile on the floor, then wanders to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He doesn't know how long the mouthwash has been sitting on the counter, but that's probably not the kind of thing that goes bad, so he gargles anyway.

The clean sheets make his bed much nicer, but the house is still all quiet and annoying. Brendon lies on his back and wonders if he should go to the kitchen and get a glass of water, and in the time it takes him to decide, he falls asleep.

\--

*

\--

Brendon remembers that he thought he had packed light for this tour, but the pile of dirty clothes rises all the way up to his knee. He stands in the room with the washer and the dryer, studying the pile. Are those really all his clothes? He leans back against the dryer, and the machine rumbles. At least their laundry detergent smells totally awesome.

He doesn't hear the door open, but he does hear the little patter of claws on linoleum, and Shane shouting, "Guess who's home?"

"Dylan!" Brendon yells, and as usual, the dog ignores him.

Brendon runs into the living room and chases Dylan around until he trips over the coffee table and knocks over a dirty plate, knife, fork, and two beer cans. He sets them back onto the table then flops onto his back, lying on the floor, while Dylan hops up onto the couch, resting her head on Shane's lap.

Brendon and Shane had promised each other that they wouldn't let the dog onto the couch, but when Shane starts scratching behind Dylan's ears, Brendon doesn't make a fuss.

He squirms around on the floor until he can turn his head and look up at Shane. Dylan is staring up at Shane, too, making puppy eyes and blinking slowly. Shane has this warm grin on his face. His hair is tucked behind his ears, and his face looks soft and sleepy and warm.

Brendon rubs his cheek against the prickly grain of the carpet and sighs.

"Where's Regan?" he asks, after a few minutes.

"Huh?" Shane says, not looking away from the dog.

"I thought she'd come back with Dylan tonight."

"Oh," Shane says. "I think she had to work."

Brendon stretches his legs out straight, rocking his feet back and forth then knocking them together.

"We should go for a walk," he says. "Take Dylan to the park or something."

"Yeah," Shane says. "Yeah, let's do that.

\--

*

\--

"I don't know if he's even booked a flight yet," Brendon says, holding his phone to his ear with one hand and using the other to drive. "You should just ask Jon."

Ryan grumbles.

"Haven't you talked to him since we went on break?" Brendon asks.

"No, of course I've talked to him," Ryan says. "This morning, for example."

"But you couldn't ask him when he's going to come to Vegas so that we can start recording?"

"We already know when we're going to start recording," Ryan says. "On the— the, oh fuck, it's like three weeks from now, or. Something. Spencer knows."

"Oh, did he end up calling to book the studio time?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah, I think so."

Brendon holds the phone awkwardly in between his shoulder and his ear, using both hands to make a left turn.

"So what's the problem, then?" Brendon asks once he has a free hand again. He glances in the rearview mirror then changes lanes, driving across three lanes to get into the right turning lane.

"Nothing," Ryan says, quickly.

"Aw, does someone miss Jon?" Brendon teases, spinning the steering wheel with his open palm as he makes a right turn. "If you want Jon to fly in early so that you can hang out, you should just tell him."

"Shut up," Ryan says, and then hangs up on him.

Brendon holds his phone up, checking that the call really has been ended, then starts laughing out loud, sitting in his empty car.

He clicks a couple of buttons on his speed dial then says, "Yeah, hey Spence. You should give Jon a call or something. Ryan's being shy."

Spencer snorts. "He called you too?"

"Yup," Brendon says.

"Has Jon called you yet?"

Brendon laughs. "No, why, did he call you?"

"Uh huh," Spencer says. "He said he was just wondering how things were going, and did I think that maybe he should fly in a little early so that we could practice before he head into the studio."

Brendon's phone beeps. He lifts his away from his ear to glance at the screen, then tells Spencer, "That's totally Jon on the other line. I'll call you back later."

"Later, dude," Spencer says, laughing.

"Hey, Jon," Brendon says, after switching the lines.

\--

"So Jon's flying out next week," Brendon says, opening up a couple of bottles of beer while Shane stirs the boiling pot of spaghetti.

"That's cool," Shane says. "You guys ready to record already?"

"Nah," Brendon says. "Not for a couple of weeks yet. I think we're just doing a couple of weeks in the studio to record what we wrote on tour at the end of the month, and then maybe we'll go somewhere else to record the rest of the songs, or maybe we'll just stay there. I guess we're going to see how it goes."

"At least you guys did some writing while you were on tour," Shane says.

"Yeah, that's true," says Brendon. "We got a bit of a head start."

"Do you think this is done?" Shane asks, holding out a spoon, with a string of spaghetti draped over the end.

Brendon opens his mouth up wide and catches the noodle between his teeth, slurping it into his mouth.

"Mhh, maybe three more minutes," he says after chewing.

\--

*

\--

Brendon slips his boxers back on and says, "So, my roommates going to be back soon—"

Janine — Janet? Something like that — stares at him for a minute before rolling her eyes and nodding. "Sure thing, babe," she says.

Brendon waits while she gets dressed and follows her down the hall, kissing her again when they're at the door.

"You want my number?" she asks.

"Umm, sure," Brendon says.

"You have a pen?" she asks.

"Just tell me," Brendon says. "I'll remember it."

She rattles off her phone number, and then leans in for another kiss, and then Brendon closes and locks the front door.

He turns around and as he walks back toward his bedroom, he sees Shane sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. In total silence, apparently.

"Ack," Brendon says. "I didn't know you were home."

"I'm home," Shane says, and crunches his Frosted Flakes loudly.

"You want company?" Brendon asks.

Shane says, "Not especially," so Brendon walks back to his room and slides into bed.

\--

*

\--

"You wanna go see the new Transformers tonight?" Brendon asks when he passes Shane in the hallway.

"How about tomorrow?" Shane asks.

"Yeah, that's cool," Brendon says. "What do you wanna do tonight?"

"I'm doing stuff with Regan," Shane says.

"Stuff?" Brendon asks. "She could come to see Transformers with us."

"Dude," Shane says. "Date stuff. You can go hang with the littlest douchefag tonight or something."

"Hmm," Brendon says, turning his back to Shane and calling over his shoulder, "Cash's on tour right now, so no I can't."

\--

Brendon can't decide who to call. He doesn't really want to hang out with a couple, and Spencer takes Haley everywhere with him. Ryan has all these weird friends that he hangs out with constantly. Brendon considers calling Jon, just to see how things are going in Chicago, but instead he wanders to the room with the computer. He and Shane both have laptops, but they have all the good computer shit in one room: the computer with two monitors and whatever else Shane needs to do video editing, like ram or something, Brendon doesn't really know how computer things work.

He means to sign onto AIM, but when Shane calls out, "What are you doing?" maybe an hour later, Brendon says, "I'm watching the one with the blonde and the anal fisting."

"The one where she fists herself, or with the weird moustache dude?" Shane yells. "Also, stop watching porn on the communal computer, you dick."

"I'm totally going to jerk it right here, so look out for the keyboard tray when you come in next time," Brendon says. "Also, I'm not going to wash my hand before using the mouse, just so you know."

"If you get the keyboard sticky I'm going to jerk off into your pillow case," Shane says. Brendon can hear him shuffling around in the hallway, but Shane never opens up the door to the room.

"Anyway, I'm going now," Shane says. "Have fun."

"Oh, I _am_ ," Brendon says.

\--

Shane comes home before eleven.

Brendon is still lying on the couch. He's had a shower, and he's definitely planning on doing something other than watching reruns of The Office, but he hasn't quite decided what he wants to do yet.

"What are you doing home?" he asks, craning his neck to try and look up at Shane.

Shane walks past the room and doesn't answer, just gives a tight shrug and keeps walking.

When Brendon hears him heading down the hall, he yells, "I left you a little present."

"What?" Shane yells. "Where?"

Brendon grins to himself, and waits for, "Holy shit, Brendon, did you leave — is that— _Brendon!_ "

Brendon starts laughing loudly.

Shane comes storming down the hall, back into the TV room. He stands, speechless, for a minute, before says, " _Dude_."

Brendon continues to cackle.

"Did you seriously leave your, your— your _jizz Kleenex_ on the _desk_?" Shane asks.

Brendon chokes on his own spit and starts coughing, even as he continues to laugh. Shane keeps a straight face for a moment longer before he breaks down as well.

"Imagine," Brendon gasps. "Imagine, imagine if you _used them_!"

"You're a fucking sick puppy," Shane says.

"You know, like, like Kleenex with moisture or whatever? Cream stuff for your nose? This would be—" Brendon breaks down laughing before continuing, "Would be a, a _facial in a tissue_ ," and then he loses it again, laughing so hard that he tips right off the couch and onto the floor.

Shane snorts, then starts to cough, and it's a whole lot of minutes before they both settle, lying side by side on the floor.

Shane turns his head and says, "I'm not cleaning those up," his eyes still all crinkly at the corners.

"Don't even front," Brendon says. "I know you're going to put them in your special treasure box."

Shane rolls his eyes, then sighs.

And sighs again.

"I think me and Regan broke up," he finally says.

"Dude, what?" Brendon says, sobering suddenly.

Shane shrugs, his shoulders barely moving on the floor.

"It's always hard coming back, you know, but this time it's just— I don't know." Shane sighs again.

Brendon sits up, awkwardly. "Dude," Brendon says, again. "Was it just a bad fight, do you think?"

"I dunno," Shane says.

The Office is still playing on the TV. Shane pushes himself onto his feet, and Brendon hurries to do the same, both of them sitting down on the couch.

Brendon squirms around for a minute, then reaches for the remote control, passing it wordlessly to Shane. Shane takes it, sighs, then starts flipping through the channels. He changes the channel about a million times, and ends up settling back on The Office in the end.

"Aren't you going out tonight?" he asks, looking forward at the TV.

Brendon shrugs and makes vague noises. "I was biding my time," he says. "Waiting to see what wonders and mysteries the night has and, like—"

"You are such a lazy fucker," Shane says.

"I drank too much to drive is the problem, I think," Brendon says.

"You need a ride somewhere?" Shane offers.

"I dunno," Brendon says. "I'll keep you posted."

\--

Shane's phone rings before the show finishes, and he rises off the couch and stands in the hallway to talk. Brendon can't hear what he's saying, but he can hear the low murmur of his voice. He's speaking quickly and he keeps cutting himself off.

Brendon doesn't know if he should turn the volume of the TV louder, or turn it down, and in the end he does neither.

Shane's on the phone for a long time, and when he finally finishes, he just pokes his head back into the room to say, "I'm going to get something to drink. You want anything?" leaving again before Brendon has the chance to answer.

Shane comes back with a couple bottles of beer, passing one over to Brendon.

"You okay?" Brendon asks, fiddling with the label on his bottle, then taking a long sip.

"Yeah, just tired," Shane says.

Brendon nods. He finishes his beer.

Shane stares off into space for a long time, and when he finally snaps himself out of it, he asks, "Oh, did you need a ride somewhere?"

"Nah," Brendon says. "Unless you want to go somewhere?"

"I don't, um," Shane says, his voice cracking a little. "I don't think—"

"Hey, dude," Brendon says, scooting across the couch until he's sitting right beside Shane, their legs pressed together. "Hey, it's okay."

Shane nods, then slouches forward, his shoulders curling in. He rests his elbow on his knee and holds his forehead with his open palm, his wrist covering his eyes.

"It's okay," Brendon says again, moving even closer. Shane gives a little nod and Brendon reaches his arm around Shane's shoulders, giving him a squeeze.

He rubs his palm up and down Shane's back, sitting close beside him and listening to the _swish swish_ his t-shirt makes when Brendon's hand rubs over it.

Brendon gives him another squeeze then lets go.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asks. "Or play a video game or something?"

"Maybe a movie," Shane says, rubbing his forehead then combing his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He sits heavily, leaving against the back of the couch.

"Whatever you want to watch," Brendon says. "Pick something and I'll go find snacks."

"I'm not really hungry," Shane says.

"No, no, it'll be good," Brendon says.

Brendon can't find _anything_ in the kitchen — he doesn't know what he was expecting to find. What, there would suddenly and magically be brownies? The only time they've ever had brownies was that night that Ryan came over and they baked some special brownies. Brendon doesn't think that special brownies would help right now, although, really, they wouldn't likely make it worse, but it doesn't even matter since there are none. — so he ends up grabbing a couple more beers and the bag of tortilla chips. He would have grated some cheese onto them to make nachos, but they totally don't even have any cheddar cheese. They've been back from tour for almost a month now; are they really that bad at grocery shopping?

He passes Shane one beer, setting the other on the coffee table so that he can open up the bag of chips.

"Tortilla chips?" Shane asks, wrinkling his eyebrows.

"Salt," Brendon says. "You know, like they have peanuts in bars because of the salt, and these chips are salted, so it's just about as good as having potato chips, right, and probably the point is just to have something crunchy. So, um, crunchy and also salty. And— beer! With the beer, it's good to have, um." Brendon trails off, finishing with, "Salty and crunchy when you're drinking beer," before forcing his mouth shut.

He leans forward and picks up his bottle. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, in between sips of beer.

Shane is sitting beside him on the couch, holding his beer. It looks like he's had a couple of sips, and Brendon even saw him take a few chips, so he's fine. He's going to be fine. His face isn't even red or anything; he probably is just kind of tired, and then he'll wake up tomorrow and Brendon will figure out a bunch of awesome shit that they can do to get themselves out of the house, and it will be fine.

Brendon is normally pretty good when people are upset, it's just that it's _Shane_ , and Shane doesn't really get upset. He doesn't get bummed out, and now he's sitting on the couch, his mouth this tight, thin line, and Brendon doesn't have any practice with being there for Shane like this.

"Do you want to order pizza?" Brendon asks, his voice louder than he means it to be.

"I'm really not that hungry," Shane says. "Did you forget to eat dinner or something?"

"Nah, I ate. Just, you know, pizza tastes better at night, right, so, we could order some, maybe, if you wanted to."

"Dude," Shane says. "The only reason you think that pizza tastes better at night is because the only time we order it at night is when we have the munchies."

"You think so?" Brendon asks. "Cause, like. Hamburgers, you know, they always taste better at night. There really are different times of day that food tastes better."

"When's the last time you have a hamburger after midnight when you weren't drunk?" Shane asks.

"Umm," Brendon says, thinking for a minute, but then starting to talk again before the silence stretches on for too long. "I haven't even had a hamburger in so long though, so I don't, you know, really think that's a fair question."

Shane snorts, and his mouth stretches out a little bit. Not a smile, but something of a loosening of the muscles. "We had burgers last week," Shane says. "Remember, after we went to, fuck, what's it called? The place down by—"

"Oh yeah," Brendon says. "We were totally drunk that night."

Shane lifts his hand up and says, "That's what I'm _saying_."

"Kay, so is what you're trying to tell me that you want to smoke up now?" Brendon asks.

Shane stares at him briefly, then rolls his eyes.

"Is that a... yes?" Brendon asks.

Shane finally smiles, rolling his eyes again before saying, "Well, maybe a little before bed to help me sleep."

\--

*

\--

Brendon doesn't know what exactly people are supposed to do after they go through breakups, so he just makes sure to keep Shane as drunk as possible, as often as possible. Numb the pain and all that. It's a plan that Shane seems to be down with.

It's a few weeks after the break up and they're sitting on the deck. They've got the fan pointed outside so that the smoke blows away from the open door, instead of back into the house. Brendon's mom keeps making comments about how she wants to see the place — she's _seen_ it, but maybe not since Brendon first moved in — so now they're on operation: make the house stop smelling like weed. Having to smoke up outside all the time kind of sucks, but it's Vegas, and Brendon always liked being outside at night, anyway.

He leans back, the plastic of his lawn chair squeaking under the weight of his ass. The lawn chairs were probably the best present he'd ever been given; Spencer is _awesome_. It's too bad that they aren't those rad ones with the built-in cupholders so that he could have his beer within finger reach, instead of having to set it on the ground, but whatever. Brendon is totally not the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. Horses have huge fucking heads and probably really big teeth too.

Brendon squirms, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the chair squeaks some more. It's kind of an annoying sound, and Brendon experiments, leaning backwards, arching his back, shifting his hips around, trying to determine where the noise is coming from.

"I'm going to push your chair over," Shane warns, his voice all low and sing-song-y.

Brendon wrinkles up his nose and scowls at Shane, crossing his eyes until his brain starts feeling all weird inside of his head.

He relaxes his face, then shakes his head. He leans his head back, letting the weight of his skull work with gravity, dropping his head back and back, and his neck folds over into this fucking _crease_ , and " _Whoa_ ," he says, jerking his head upright.

He looks side to side, then drops his head backwards again, just to see if he can still feel the crease. Again he can feel the line where his neck is folding back. It feels like his spine has been snapped back at a right angle and there's a flap of skin stuck between the edge of the break.

"Shane," he whispers, holding his head still. "Shane, Shane, look at how my neck's broken! What the fuck?"

"Huh?" Shane says.

"Try it!" Brendon says. "Just, like, drop your head back and you can _feel_ where it bends and there's like. You can feel it and it's fucking weird."

There's a moment of silence before Shane says, "Whoa, dude. What the fuck, that's fucked up shit."

Brendon straightens his neck, sitting back up and blinking. He reaches his hand to the back of his neck and gives a little rub. He can't feel a line where the crease was. It's funny how he can feel something without there being outer signs of it.

Shane keeps flicking his lighter, which should be annoying, but there's actually something about the sound of the flame igniting that Brendon finds comforting.

Brendon rests his hands on his belly, his fingers folded together. His thumbs rest just at the bottom of his rib cage, and he can feel where his stomach meets the bones. He can feel his own heartbeat, and also these other little things, like maybe where his food is being digested. Does he have food in his belly that's still being digested? How long has it been since he last ate? Probably a really long time, because he's actually fucking starving right now.

"Dude, do you know what we should buy?" Brendon asks, feeling little tremors of excitement wriggling down his thighs just at the thought. "Fucking— fucking chocolate fudge Pop-Tarts."

"Mhh," Shane hums. Then, "Wait, what?"

"There was an ad for Pop-Tarts when I was watching TV yesterday, and ever since then I've been craving them."

"What the hell were you watching on TV that they played ads for Pop-Tarts?"

"Reruns of the Spiderman cartoons. Anyway, Pop-Tarts. We never got to eat those when I was a kid," Brendon says, sighing. His tongue rasps against the roof of his mouth. He gropes around for his beer bottle, but when his fingers close around the neck, he lifts it up and realizes that it's empty already. He's not sure how drunk he wants to get tonight; maybe he should just get a cup of water.

"I don't know how you managed to survive under conditions of such deprivation," Shane says.

Brendon ignores the tone of Shane's voice and nods. "It was hard."

Shane snorts, then says, "Pop-Tarts are fucking disgusting, if you want to make up for lost time we should get Twizzlers."

"How is that even relevant?" Brendon asks. "Twizzlers are fucking licorice. Pop-Tarts are — for toasters. We're not even talking about the same category of food."

"Sugar foods," Shane says, peacefully. He's staring off, probably staring at the stars and thinking about moonlight or some shit like that. Shane just drifts off somewhere else sometimes, and Brendon knows that Shane's seeing something that Brendon isn't. Brendon can't even see any stars tonight. Too much neon in Vegas.

"You're totally baked," Brendon says. He stretches out his leg and pokes at Shane's foot with his toe.

Shane hums. "I'm feeling good."

"Your cheeks are getting all splotchy," Brendon says, looking sideways at Shane. "Are you drunk, too?"

"No," Shane says. "Suck my dick."

"Sorry, I choke on small objects," Brendon says, then bursts into laughter. "Dude, that thing doesn't even make sense. Why would you choke on _small_ things?"

Shane gives him a look. "Dude, like. Little plastic pieces. Little kids totally choke on small things."

"Oh," Brendon says. " _Oh_ , yeah, I get that now."

"Dude, who have you been choking with your dick, you inconsiderate bastard?"

"Hey now," Brendon says, leaning toward Shane and maintaining eye contact. "I'm always a gentleman."

Shane stares right back at him, and there's this weird moment where time stretches back and forth between them, all elastic and smooth, pulling tighter and tighter until Brendon finally blinks, and it snaps apart.

He blinks again, then sits back in his chair.

"What did you do with the blunt?" Shane asks, after a long pause of silence.

"It's in the ashtray," Brendon says.

\--

*

\--

\--

*

\--

Ryan was supposed to be meeting them at the club, but Brendon got a text fifteen minutes ago: _Which movie did u wnat to see agian?? keltie says she dosn't want to see teh new jms bond._ Brendon rolled his eyes, and didn't bother texting back.

He's sitting in a booth when Shane comes to find him. It takes him a minute to notice that Shane's there because he's also very busy making out with a blonde — named Crystal? Maybe? — who has her tongue pierced.

Shane says something that Brendon misses under the throbbing beat of the music.

"What?" he yells.

"When do you think you're going to head home?" Shane shouts.

"Oh, I dunno," Brendon says, looking stealthily over to the side. "Not yet."

"Okay, well, gimme a call when you're going to head home, okay?" Shane asks.

"What?" Brendon yells. "Why?" But Shane has already turned away, glancing over his shoulder and lifting up his hand to wave goodbye.

He looks at the girl, shrugs, then leans in again.

\--

Brendon actually manages to catch a cab within minutes of walking outside, and it's only maybe half an hour after saying goodbye to Shane that Brendon's unlocking the front door to their place.

"Hello?" Brendon calls out. He can hear music coming from Shane's bedroom, so he toes off his shoes and walks down the hall.

"Hey, I'm home," Brendon yells, reaching for the handle on Shane's door. "I wasn't really feeling it tonight, so I thought maybe we could—" he trails off, standing frozen in the doorway. 

He forces himself to blink and, yeah, Shane's still naked on the bed, scrambling for the blankets, his naked body partially covering the other naked body of a dude. It's a dude, because Brendon can totally see his dick. Shane's naked on the bed and there are two dicks and Brendon flushes so red it feels like all the blood vessels in his face are going to burst.

"Umm, that we could hang out," Brendon finishes, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "But, you're busy right now, so, um, I'm going to—"

Shane says, "Brendon," but Brendon has already backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly. He stares for a minute at the shut door, then gives himself a little shake. 

He feels hysterical giggles bubbling up in his throat and he pinches his lips tightly together, worried about what would happen if he let his mouth open and they started to spill out.

There is the sound of movement in the house. Someone walks down the hall and then after a pause the front door opens and closes. More footsteps. 

Shane knocks on the door but doesn't wait for Brendon to answer before letting himself in.

Brendon has been shuffling back and forth across the open space between his bed and his dresser. He stops somewhere in between the two and looks at Shane.

Shane's cheeks are red and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He's wearing a zipped up hoodie and a pair of jeans. Brendon can see this triangle of skin at Shane's neck, where the hoodie isn't zipped up quite all the way. Shane's neck is kind of red and raw looking, and Brendon squints for a minute before he thinks, _beard burn_ , and then he starts to laugh and he can't stop.

Shane shakes his head, grinning sheepishly and scratching the back of his head.

"I thought that you were going to be busy with that girl. I did say to call before coming home," Shane says, when Brendon finally manages to pull himself together.

Brendon's chest is tight, like there's still some laughter trapped inside, but he swallows against it and says, "Obviously you weren't very clear about the consequences!"

Shane scratches harder at the back of his head.

That guy left awfully quickly, and Brendon's pretty sure that he caught them in the middle of the act, not in the aftermath. He sweeps his gaze downwards, but Shane's hoodie is long enough that Brendon can't see much of anything. He doesn't even know why he's looking.

"So, this is awkward," he says. Sometimes it's best just to face these things head on.

Shane pulls his hand down. He opens his mouth, pauses for a minute, then closes it. He opens it again, and finally just presses his lips together and lifts his hands up as he shrugs.

"Kay, so. Goodnight," Shane finally says.

"Yup, night," Brendon says.

Shane stays still for a moment, and there's something in his face that Brendon can't read, which is weird because Brendon would have said that he's already seen every possible expression that Shane's face can make. Whatever the expression is, it goes away quickly, and then Shane looks blank and a little tired.

He turns away, and shuts Brendon's door again.

Brendon can hear him walk back to his bedroom. Shane's sheets will probably smell like that other dude. Shane didn't have time to put a t-shirt on when he hurried to dress again, and he probably didn't put on underwear either. Brendon wonders if Shane is going to jerk off now.

There's a weird kind of intimacy that comes from catching someone having sex. Like Brendon crossed some line and accidentally became a participant.

That's a stupid thing to think though. There have been lots of times that Brendon knew Shane was having sex. There have been countless times that he knew Shane was jerking off; sometimes they'd buy pay-per-view porn on hotel nights and jerk off at the same time. There's no reason that Brendon would still be standing in the center of his bedroom, having to remind himself to blink. 

How much did he have to drink anyway? There was some predrinking before the club: a couple shots of rum at least. Shane poured, and he might have been using the double shot glass. And then when they were at the booth, they definitely had at least three pitchers, so between two people that's, like, maybe, how many beers are in a pitcher, anyway? Two glasses each? Or is it more than that?

So maybe Brendon's drunk right now. He's definitely feeling something, regardless of how many drinks he actually had. Is Shane drunk, too? Was he drunk when he picked up the guy at the club? And who is the guy, anyway? Some stranger? He didn't look familiar, but then again Brendon isn't in the practice of identifying people by bare asses only.

The weird giggles are frothing up in his chest around, so he stops thinking about that and concentrates on getting ready for bed. He really is kind of tired tonight; there was a reason he came home so early.

He strips off his clothes then remembers that he hasn't brushed his teeth, so he heads to the bathroom. As he walking naked down the hall, he realizes that maybe he should put some clothes on; he doesn't know what Shane is actually doing right now. Whatever, though. Brendon had to put up with seeing Shane's naked body already tonight. Fair's fair. And anyway, Brendon spends lots of time walking around the apartment naked, even when he knows that Shane's home. Why should it be any different now?

Still, once Brendon finishes brushing his teeth, he lingers by the bathroom door for a moment, listening for Shane. When he doesn't hear any sounds, he makes the dash back to his bedroom.

Back in his bedroom, Brendon's all aware of being naked now. It's funny how that switches on and off. He's naked and sleeping, and he often gets up and forgets to put clothes back on when he wakes back up. After a concert, he showers and walks around wearing only a towel for as long as he can get away with it. When it's hot, when he's bored, when he doesn't think anyone will be around: Brendon likes not having to wear clothes. But then something will happen and he'll get this weird feeling and suddenly it doesn't feel as natural anymore, or — Something.

Brendon is in the weirdly-naked stage right now, and his skin feels all prickly and aware. Shane's down the hall in his bedroom, and Brendon's standing naked, and maybe Shane is naked, too. The house is warm and Brendon is sweating a little, was already sweating from the heat of the club. He thought that he was going to have sex tonight, but then he thought that he didn't actually feel like it, but maybe he was wrong. It would have been better to stay at the club, to stay with the girl. Shane probably wishes that he could have stayed with the dude. The dude that he was trying to sleep with.

Brendon climbs into his bed, pushes the covers down, decides that it's not that warm after all, and pulls the sheet up to his chest. Then he decides that he's going to jerk off, and pushes it back down again. He's hard because he was going to have sex tonight, but then his brain got all weird or something, because that girl obviously knew who Panic at the Disco is, but that didn't really matter. She had a tongue piercing. Which, okay, he can never really feel the actual piercing, but it's definitely a signal that a girl will go down, so whatever. He should have stayed at the club.

Brendon comes onto his chest and then wipes himself off. Some guys try to aim for a pile of tissues, but Brendon doesn't like having to fuss with that while he's busy having an orgasm. It's not like his jizz is that hard to clean up, and anyway, he washes his sheets at least once a month. 

Brendon thinks about how sometimes he leaves dirty tissues in places that Shane might find them, and how it had always seemed funny at the time, but maybe that was actually a weird thing to do. Maybe it's weird that he knows that Shane comes into a fistful of tissues when he jerks off. It seemed like — whatever, at the time. At the time, it seemed like whatever, but now Brendon thinks that maybe it was weird, and he thinks that he definitely should have stayed at the club. He wishes that he stayed at the club.

He rolls over and falls asleep. His brain is tired and his body is drunk and it takes less time to fall asleep than he would have guessed.

\--

*

\--

It takes until halfway through his shower for Brendon to realize that he's not feeling especially hung over. Sometimes it's tricky right when he first wakes up. He can feel nauseous just from being hungry, or feel like he's going to be okay because he's still half-asleep. 

Brendon showers with the water just warm enough that it won't fog up the mirror. That's the best temperature to help him wake up, and halfway through the shower he realizes that he's not feeling all that hung over and also he realizes that he saw Shane totally fucking a dude last night, and then he turns up the shower to really hot.

The hot water stings a little bit, but it's a good feeling, like something itching his back. He shampoos his hair, then rubs the bar of soap under his arms and down his chest. Rubs his soap hand over his dick and then remembers that he didn't have sex last night, so he doesn't need to worry about trying to clean up. He jerks off anyway, just because his hand is there.

\--

Brendon watches TV halfheartedly, waiting for Shane to get up so that they can eat breakfast. Shane's sleeping in really late this morning though, and eventually Brendon wanders into the kitchen alone. He eats two bowls of cereal, considers a third, but decides that he'll wait and just eat something else when Shane finally gets up.

\--

Mid afternoon, and Brendon's been up for a couple of hours. He wants lunch, so he walks down the hall to Shane's room.

He knocks on the door, loudly, before pushing it open.

Shane's sitting at his desk, his huge headphones around his neck and his laptop open in front of him. He turns his head around to look at Brendon when Brendon walks in.

"What's up?" he asks.

"You're awake," Brendon says.

"Yup," Shane says.

"I thought you were sleeping," Brendon says.

"Nope," Shane says.

"Yeah, so, I wanted to make lunch now," Brendon says. "I'm hungry."

"So make lunch," Shane says.

"I was waiting for you," says Brendon.

Shane turns his head toward his computer, and says, "I was just—" He looks back at Brendon, glances at his computer again, and says, "Yeah, okay. I'm not really that hungry, but whatever."

"Kay, well c'mon," Brendon says, leaving Shane's room and walking back to the kitchen.

He doesn't know what he wants for lunch, so when Shane gets to the kitchen, he asks, "What should we have?"

"I dunno," Shane says. "I'm not really that hungry."

"I don't know what to make," Brendon says.

"Just have cereal or something."

"I had cereal," Brendon says. "I'm ready for lunch."

"I dunno," Shane says again. "We need groceries. Let's just make a sandwich or something."

Brendon doesn't really feel like a sandwich, but there really isn't any food in the house, so he just walks to the counter and grabs the loaf of bread. The loaf is hard, and when he starts sawing at it with a knife, the bread crumbles, leaving huge chunks on the counter. He tries to put the piece back together using mayonnaise, and it sort of works. He cuts a few more pieces, smearing another one with mayo and piling on all the rest of the ham. Brendon likes mustard, but Shane doesn't, so he puts extra pepper on Shane's.

He passes Shane one plate, and carries his own over to the table. The sandwiches are just bread and meat, since there's nothing green in their refrigerated. 

Brendon says, "We should have just gone out for subs."

Shane grunts, and doesn't point out that there was really no point for Brendon to come and bug him. Whatever. Shane gets all caught up with his projects, anyway. It's not good to spend that much time hunched over the computer, and when Shane's editing, he doesn't even remember to blink. Brendon doesn't actually know what Shane's working on right now. He doesn't think that Shane's got anything official going right now. Maybe it's just something he's playing with for himself. Brendon does that sometimes: writes songs that he knows would never be Panic at the Disco songs. It's a relief to be able to work on things just for fun occasionally.

Shane eats some of his sandwich, then sits at the table, waiting for Brendon to finish. Brendon really was hungry, so he eats the whole thing even though the bread was nasty and the ham was probably starting to go bad.

After he finishes eating, there's a moment where neither of them move. Brendon gets the feeling that Shane is waiting for him to say something, but what does Brendon have to say? Brendon doesn't have anything do say. He said that he was sorry for not knocking, and that's all there was, from him. If Shane wants to talk about something, then he should talk about it. It's not fair for him to just sit there and stare at Brendon and make Brendon feel like he's doing something wrong. Brendon's not even doing anything. _Brendon_ isn't the one who did something.

Brendon pushes away from the table, almost knocking his chair over.

"I'm going to walk Dylan," he snaps. 

What the hell is Shane's problem, anyway?

"O-kay," Shane says in a weird voice. He's still sitting at the table.

Whatever. He can just sit there and finish his fucking sandwich. The sandwich that Brendon made for him. Shane's such a lazy bastard.

\--

It takes for-fucking-ever to walk to the park, so usually they drive. By the time Brendon has walked over, he's feeling much calmer, and Dylan is looking tired.

"I'm not carrying you back home," he informs the dog, then unsnaps her leash to let her run free. All she does is trot over to the shade and lie down.

Brendon sighs, then walks over to sit down beside her.

"We'll just take a little break," he says when she wiggles closer and rests her chin on his thigh. He pats her head.

\--

The sun starts to set as Brendon makes his way back home, and by the time he walks through the front door, it's almost all the way dark outside.

Dylan, who Brendon had been carrying for the last twenty minutes, waits until Brendon unsnaps her leash and then blots off.

"Drama queen," Brendon mutters, just to himself since the dog is long gone.

Shane isn't in the kitchen when Brendon gets himself a glass of water. Brendon stares at the fridge and wonders if Shane has eaten yet, or if he was waiting for Brendon. If Shane is working on a project, chances are good that he doesn't even realize it's time for dinner.

Brendon walks to Shane's room and knocks loudly on the door, yelling, "What are we going to do for supper," before Shane answers.

"What?" Shane says. He walks to the door, and says again, "What?"

"Dinner," Brendon says. "Food."

Shane blinks, lifts up his arm to look at his wrist, realizes that he isn't wearing a watch, and then blinks again.

"Oh, yeah," he says.

"You wanna order something or go out somewhere?" Brendon asks.

"Maybe ordering pizza," Shane says. "Then we can eat the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow. We've gotta get to the grocery store."

"What do you want? Hawaiian?"

"Yeah, sure," Shane says. "Or maybe get one Hawaiian and one meat lovers or something."

"'kay," Brendon says. He walks down the hall to get the phone, listening to see if Shane follows him, or if he closes his door again. Brendon doesn't hear the sound of the door shutting, but he can't hear footsteps either.

He makes the call, then stands in the center of the kitchen. It feels weird being at home right now. He's been home for long enough that it can't just be the getting-used-to-being-off-the-road thing.

He walks back to Shane's room and says, "You wanna smoke up before the pizza gets here?"

"Okay," Shane says. He's sitting at his desk, but his arms are crossed and no windows seem to be in use on his computer screen. He's just got a couple of file directories open.

"What are you working on?" Brendon asks.

"Nothing, really," Shane says. "I was just experimenting with some old clips I've got. Seeing about some color adjustment shit."

"Cool," Brendon says. "You wanna roll, or what?" 

"You roll," Shane says.

"Yeah, okay," Brendon says. He lingers in Shane's doorway for a minute longer, even though he doesn't actually have anything to say.

Finally, Shane says, "Dude, _what_?"

"What?" Brendon echoes.

"You're being really fucking weird today," Shane says.

"I'm not being weird," Brendon says. "I'm not doing anything. I didn't do anything."

"What," Shane says again, but it's not really a question this time.

Brendon shrugs, raising his eyebrows and turning the corners of his mouth down. It's kind of a, _fine, be that way_ , and a, _fuck you, asshole_ , all in one.

Shane stands up, and walks over the couple of steps it takes for them to be facing each other. He crosses his arms and says, "Is there something you want to say?"

"What?" Brendon says, honestly surprised. "Me? What would I have to say?"

"I dunno," Shane says. "But you should either say something, or stop acting like a fruitcake."

Brendon snorts, and mutters, "Nice."

"Brendon," Shane says warningly.

" _I_ didn't say it," Brendon says.

"Are you seriously freaking out about this?" Shane asks. "I wouldn't have thought you'd care."

"Of course I don't care," Brendon says, holding both of his hands up. Why is he holding his hands up? It's such a defensive gesture. He should lower his hands. Why are his arms frozen like this? "I was just surprised," he says.

"You don't get to be a douche about this," Shane says. He doesn't look embarrassed or worried or anything. He looks the same way he did when he told Brendon that there had to be a schedule for cleaning the kitchen and that it was going to be Brendon's turn first because the last time Brendon made mac & cheese, he left the last little bit in the pot and didn't soak it or anything, and now, somewhere behind all the _other_ dirty dishes, there is a pot with fossilized orange sauce, _Brendon_ , and Shane isn't going to be the one to clean that shit up.

"I'm not going to be a douche," Brendon says. He tries to put a suitable amount of scorn into his voice, like it's totally out of the question for Shane to even consider that. Brendon? A douche? What is Shane even talking about?

"You're already being a douche," Shane says. "Now stop it. You don't get to turn this into a big deal."

"I'm not going to," Brendon says. He finally manages to pull his hands down, crossing his arms cross his chest. He looks down at the floor. "Just, I mean. _What_? I'm not going to turn what into a big deal? Because, I guess, I mean, I didn't really think, or, I mean." Brendon trails off. "I was surprised," he says again.

"It's not a thing," Shane says. "Just, like, I dunno, a thing sometimes. But it's not a _thing_ and you don't get to turn it into one."

"Is that why, um, you and Regan—?"

"Dude, no. What the fuck?" Shane asks, crossing his own arms. "That's just— No. No, what the fuck?"

"What?" Brendon says. "It's not a weird question."

"I just told you it's not a thing," Shane says. "Of course it's a weird question."

"It's just a thing, but it's not a thing?" Brendon repeats, tilting his head and looking at Shane. "Uh huh." 

Shane's shoulders are all tight, and his mouth looks small. 

Brendon takes a breath and as he exhales slowly he can feel the weird tension that's been all over the house since last night loosen and fade. He uncrosses his arms and asks, "Is it some kind of art school thing?"

Shane's head snaps up and his eyebrows raise.

Brendon says, "'Cause, you know, I think I've heard something about that..."

Shane's eyes start to crinkle at the corners.

"Yeah, I think there was this video I saw one time. Oh, what was it called? Something or another about art school sluts, hey, ouch!" 

Brendon rubs his arm, and tries to bat Shane's hands away. 

"Stop hitting! I'm being supportive. I think it was a documentary — _oof_."

Brendon turns around, hunching in on himself and trying to protect his stomach from Shane's jabby fists. Shane starts going for the kidney shots, so it doesn't end up helping much. Fortunately, Shane doesn't know where Brendon's kidneys actually are, but unfortunately, it's also painful to get punched in the spine.

Brendon sprints off down the hall, nearly tripping over Dylan and yelling over his shoulder, "If you hurt me you'll have to roll your own doobie." Shane always twists the end too tight and then it's impossible to inhale.

\--

They're sitting side-by-side on the couch, the pizza box on the coffee table in front of them. It's empty, save two dinky slices that are missing most of the cheese, and one half-eaten slice that's covered in dog slobber. They started feeding it to Dylan, but then Brendon remembered about how gross her shit got after the last time they fed her pizza, so he had to wrestle it away from her. Probably it wasn't the best idea to put it back in the box after that.

Shane shifts on the couch. He doesn't actually move at all, but he rolls his body or something, so Brendon can feel the couch move. The pizza they got had a really thick crust and it's probably the best thing Brendon's tasted in his entire life.

Shane's holding a nearly eaten slice in his hand, but he doesn't seem to be working on eating it. Mostly all that's left is the crust, so Brendon reaches over and takes it from him. Shane's slow in reacting; he turns his head toward Brendon and blinks, his mouth falling slowly open.

Brendon eats half the crust in one bite, and while he's swallowing, Shane finally says, "Hey!"

"Want the rest?" Brendon offers, holding the crust out.

Shane frowns, then leans forward to take a little bite, pulling back afterwards and saying, "You can finish it."

Brendon pops the rest into his mouth.

\--

*

\--

"No, that's not how it's supposed to sound," Ryan says.

"You going to sing this one yourself, too?" Brendon asks, exasperated.

"No," Ryan snaps. He pauses for a moment, then says, "Maybe." He thinks for a minute. "No, definitely the no. That song needs to be more, like upper in the— you know, the higher sounds. It needs to be like how I've been telling you to sing it. Just sing it like that."

Brendon groans, leaning forward so that his head bangs onto the piano.

"You could try switching off with the verses," Jon suggests.

"You wanna try singing it?" Brendon offers.

"Nah. No, no more songs," Jon says. "I'm still not, not convinced with the very most certainty, that I should be singing for the one I'm singing on. Obviously I'm pretty certain about not singing the ones I'm already not singing."

"What?" Ryan says. "But we've already recorded that!"

"If you're going to switch off the verses again, if should be for a song that's actually written to go like that. There has to be a reason for us to do things," Spencer says.

"Do you want—" Brendon starts.

Spencer cuts him off, "No."

\--

"So, I killed the rest of my band today," Brendon says, walking in to the kitchen and peeking over Shane's shoulder to see what's in the pan on the stove. "Ooh, is that pasta sauce?"

Shane elbows him away. "Don't lick that spoon. I'm using it still."

"The sauce is simmering," Brendon says. "That's like boiling and boiling sterilizes things."

"Pretty sure that's not how it works," Shane says.

Brendon humphs. He walks to the fridge to help himself to a beer.

"Anyway, you need help hiding bodies or something?" Shane asks.

"Nah, I left Hobo in the room with the corpses," Brendon says. "I figure I'll head back to the studio in a couple of weeks, and all of the evidence will be eaten. The trick will be to keep all the staff out in the meantime..."

Shane laughs and says, "You think Hobo's going to eat three grown dudes in just a couple of weeks? I've had hamburgers that were bigger than that dog."

"Well, one of the dudes is Ryan," Brendon says.

"Yeah, point."

Brendon finishes his beer. "You need me to put the pasta on?"

Shane gestures with his wooden spoon. "I've got it already."

Brendon comes up behind Shane, and leans his head against the center of Shane's back. He sighs loudly, then lifts up his head. "I'm starving," he says, making _nom nom_ noises that are muffled by Shane's t-shirt.

"Go set the table," Shane says, laughing and trying to fend Brendon off with the wooden spoon. "What's up with all the cannibalism talk today?"

"Is it really cannibalism if a dog eats humans?" Brendon asks. "No, it wouldn't be. It's got to be people eating people."

"Well, people are getting eaten, and it's another person who causes it to happen," Shane says.

"Hmm, yeah," Brendon says. "But there's no ingestion of human flesh by another human. I think maybe it's half-points."

"If you'd brought the bodies back home, we should have made sausages," Shane says.

"I dunno," Brendon says. "I think you need one of those really huge meat grinders."

"We've got a food processor," Shane says.

\--

"So why did you have to kill your band?" Shane asks, sitting across the table from Brendon. 

Brendon has finished his third helping, and he's eyeing the dish. Shane hasn't had as much yet, so maybe Brendon should give him the chance to have some more before he finished it off.

"The same reason I want to kill them every time, Pinky," Brendon says.

"To take over the world?" Shane asks.

"It's too bad I couldn't fit that in with the ultimate plan," Brendon says, sighing.

"More fighting over lyrics?" Shane asks.

"No," Brendon moans. "We didn't even try that song today. It's that one that we were trying to record. Apparently I'm not able to convey emotion correctly."

"You guys need to write more angry songs," Shane says. "Then you'd have it down."

"You're a problem solver," Brendon says. He uses his finger to wipe up the extra sauce on his plate, and then licks his finger clean.

Shane looks down at his plate and says, "I know."

\--

"So what do you want to do with your day off?" Shane asks.

Brendon tilts his head from side to side, considering.

"Maybe sleep in, but chances are good that I'll wake up early even if I don't mean to. I'm totally on daytime hours, ever since we started recording. I dunno. What are you doing?" Brendon asks.

"Eh, nothing much," Shane says. "Me and Brian are getting together to talk about this script sometime, but that should be more than a couple of hours."

"We should— We should, I dunno. Something," says Brendon.

"No movies," Shane says.

"No movies," Brendon agrees.

Dylan walks up and drops her rubber football on the couch in between Brendon and Shane. It's one of those gag toys that's supposed to make sex noises when squeezed, but the clip-thing wore out the first night they got it, and now it just makes this weird squeaking noise.

Brendon starts to reach for it just as Shane says, "Not in the house, dog," and scratches Dylan's head.

Brendon pulls his hand back, quickly.

Shane looks over at him, and Brendon raises his eyebrows, blinking quickly.

"You're terrible," Shane says, smiling. "You're the one who said that we shouldn't play fetch inside the house anymore."

"What?" Brendon says, blinking some more.

Shane snorts, then shoves at Brendon, sending Brendon sprawling sideways on the couch. "How come she had such an easy time getting you to do what she wants, and I have to threaten to call your mom just to get you to clean the hair out of the sink?"

Brendon pushes himself upright. "You don't know that that was my hair," he says.

"Your hair was shorter afterwards! You had clearly given yourself a haircut," Shane protests.

"Can't prove anything," Brendon says, trying to catch himself as Shane elbows him sideways again. He shoves back and Shane grabs his arm and somewhere in there they both tumble off of the couch. Brendon lands on top of Shane and gets an elbow to his ribs for his trouble. 

"Ow, ow, okay," Brendon says, rolling off Shane. They lie side by side on the floor.

Brendon lifts himself up with one elbow and looks down at Shane. Shane's hair is all tangled up around his head, and kind of greasy. His cheeks are rough, and Brendon thinks that Shane probably didn't shower today. Brendon had a shower in the morning, but only because sometimes the hot water helps him get going. 

"What?" Shane asks.

Brendon blinks, and hopes that it was clear that he was zoned out.

"I'm tired," says Brendon.

"Go to bed," Shane says.

"Nah," Brendon says. "I'm going to try and sleep in tomorrow anyway."

Shane nods, then winces a little, reaching on hand up to rub at his neck.

"Sore?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah," Shane says. "I've been on the computer too much."

"I thought the whole point of being a director was that you could tell other people to do the editing for you?" Brendon asks.

"This isn't for the thing we're actually filming," Shane says. "I was just trying to see if it's possible to change the colors by setting a wash, or if we need to worry about getting the lighting right to begin with. And anyway, I'm pretty sure that no one who's making a movie under ten minutes long gets to have their own editing staff, but maybe one day..."

Shane sighs, then sits up, folding his legs so that he's cross legged on the floor. He reaches his arms out to the sides, fingers just brushing the floor, then tilts his head to one side, then the other.

"Is it that bad?" Brendon asks.

Shane shakes his head, then winces at the movement. Brendon rolls his eyes. He stands and walks over to the couch, sitting down and motioning to the spot on the floor between his legs. 

"C'mon," he says, when Shane takes too long.

Shane crawls over, sitting on the floor in front of Brendon. Brendon grabs his shoulders and tugs him backwards. 

"I've got to be able to reach you," he says. Shane scoots back.

Brendon squeezes Shane's shoulders, digging his thumbs into the muscle. He rubs small circles across the span of Shane's shoulders, then as far down Shane's spine as he can reach. The angle is difficult like this; Brendon's wrists bend awkwardly. Shane's t-shirt moves under Brendon's hands. Even though Brendon's not able to do a whole lot, already Shane is slumping forward, breathing deeply and making soft, low noises when Brendon rubs hard.

"You want a real back rub?" Brendon offers, running his fingers up Shane's neck, then trailing back down, stopping at the neck of his t-shirt. 

He mostly expects that Shane will say no, but instead Shane says, "You don't have to," which is pretty much the same thing as asking for it.

He leaves his fingers on Shane's neck and asks, "Do you want to lie down on the floor?" It's been a long while since they vacuumed. The crumbs and dog hair don't bother Brendon when they're rolling around or rough housing, but he doesn't know if he'd want to lie face down on the carpet for very long.

Shane makes a noncommittal noise, so Brendon stands, offers Shane a hand, then leads them down the hall, and into Shane's room.

Shane seems more tired now, pulling off his t-shirt and crawling onto the bed, than Brendon thought. Maybe Shane's just relaxing; sometimes relaxed and tired can look similar. Maybe Shane's sad, still. Brendon doesn't actually know how sad Shane has been, because ever since the breakup, Brendon has been working hard to keep Shane happy. Happy, or at least drunk.

Brendon probably has actual massage oil somewhere in the house, because people think it's funny to give him sex shit as a present, but he just grabs the bottle of cream off of the floor, then climbs onto Shane's bed.

Shane lies face down, his arms cradling his head, and Brendon walks on his knees until he's right beside Shane. He hesitates for a moment, then straddles Shane's thighs, holding most of his weight off of Shane's body. He pumps cream into his hand, and it's cold and doesn't smell great. It's probably a really old bottle. It slides around when he rubs his hands together, though, so it'll do what he wants it to.

Shane freezes when Brendon first touches his back, but he takes a breath and relaxes after that. Brendon's hands slide over his back, and there's this smooth give to Shane's skin when Brendon digs his thumbs in. He rubs Shane's shoulders and his back and then his shoulders again. He looks at the mole, low on the right side. At the clusters of freckles high on his shoulders. At the way his spine digs at the base, and then juts out at the nape of his neck.

He can feel Shane relax, feel the way his muscles loosen. Brendon rubs over all of the tense spots that he can think of, and then moves his hands just for the sake of movement. Shane's skin is soft from the lotion, warm from being touched. There's something comforting in getting to touch, something in this that soothes Brendon.

It's more intimate than he meant it to be: crouching over top of Shane, the two of them on Shane's bed. Brendon keeps waiting for it to get weird, but as time passes, it just seems more and more like Shane has fallen asleep. Brendon doesn't know if he could sleep right now, but he wants to stretch out, to cover Shane's body with his own, to rest his head in between Shane's shoulder blades.

All of the cream gets rubbed in, and Shane's skin gets warmer and warmer, until Brendon wonders if the friction will be uncomfortable. Does this mean that Brendon should move away? 

He stops rubbing, and trails his hands up and down Shane's back, touching only with his fingers; ten tiny points of contact.

Shane turns his head, his hair covering most of his face. Brendon wonders if he's woken up, or if he was never asleep at all.

"Thanks," Shane says in a rough voice.

"No problem."

Shane lies still beneath him, and now that the moment has been acknowledged, Brendon stops wondering if he should pull away. Shane will say something once he's had enough. Shane will move away if he wants to.

Brendon moves his hands over Shane's back, up the slope of his shoulders. He pushes hair away with careful fingers, and strokes the sides of Shane's neck. Shane has long hair, but there are little bits that are just soft fuzz at the bottom of his hair line. Brendon traces along Shane's hair line until he comes to the patches of soft, smooth skin, just behind Shane's ears, touching with careful fingers.

Shane breathes deeply, his skin warm and soft. Brendon presses his hand flat to Shane's back, just to feel the way his ribs expand each time he inhales. 

Brendon feels like he's relaxed now, too, even though there's no reason why giving someone a back rub would be relaxing for Brendon. Maybe something in having this kind of slow contact with another body. Shane breathes deeply and Brendon can feel his back moving each time.

Brendon pulls his hands away and moves carefully off of Shane's body, stretching out on the bed, close beside Shane.

Shane's hair is in his face when he slowly opens his eyes, and Brendon reaches out to push it away. He feels weird, and he doesn't want to stop touching Shane. When Shane lifts up his arm, draping it over Brendon's waist, it's a relief.

Shane has to roll onto his side to get his arm over Brendon's body, and then they're both on their sides, facing each other, and Brendon pushes Shane's hair away again, and he doesn't pull his hand back afterwards. There's this pressure in his chest, like his ribs are crumbling, and his throat feels raw. He moves in a little closer, and he would probably stop there, would have stopped at that, except that Shane's lying in this way that their bodies fit together just right, and instead of pulling away, Brendon presses as close as he can get and tilts his head up to press his mouth to Shane's.

Shane kisses slowly, but he does kiss back. Brendon doesn't know if Shane was sleeping; maybe Shane's still kind of out of it right now. Brendon doesn't feel sleepy. He feels warm and hypersensitive in his skin, and like there's this swelling wave inside of his belly, so he keeps kissing Shane.

It's not so different, kissing a guy. Shane's cheeks are rough, but his tongue is slick just like a girl's. The act of kissing is pretty much the same. It's just another mouth, another body. It's just Shane.

Brendon lifts his knee, resting it on Shane's hip, and using the momentum to roll them both over, and then Brendon's on top of Shane again, but this time they're face to face. He holds his weight up with his hands and knees, holding himself over Shane and leaning down so that they can keep on kissing. Each time he pulls back to change the angle, he licks his lips, and their mouth slide together easily. When Brendon slides his tongue into Shane's mouth, Shane meets him with equal pressure, and it feels like a victory and it feels like a relief, and Brendon spreads his legs wider, resting more of his weight onto Shane's thighs so that he can move one hand away from the bed and onto Shane's cheek.

Shane's hands come up, fingers spread over Brendon's hips, and Brendon gasps sharply. Shane's thumbs are kind of digging into his hip bones, but it's good, it's good to be touched like this. Shane slides one hand up the back of Brendon's t-shirt, his finger pressing into the bare skin of Brendon's lower back, and Brendon drops his head into Shane's shoulder and breathes. Brendon's skin feels weirdly sensitive, and he hopes that he doesn't seem as responsive as he feels.

They kiss, and Brendon slowly moves his body so that he isn't sitting on Shane's thighs, stretches out his legs, slides a thigh in between Shane's legs and presses their bodies flush together. He can't hold up much of his weight like this, with just one elbow braced on the bed, and it's different after that: their bodies flush together. Shane bends his knee, lifting his leg to bracket Brendon's hip, and Brendon gasps and grinds down and fucks his tongue into Shane's mouth, and Shane moves his hand from Brendon's lower back, curls his fingers about Brendon's shoulders and pushes him away.

Brendon swallows, then asks, "What?" his voice soft and raw.

Shane leaves his hands on Brendon's shoulders, holding him back. He doesn't say anything, just stares up at Brendon, his forehead wrinkling up.

"Okay," Brendon says, and rolls off. "Okay. Sorry."

He lies down on the bed again, stretched out along side Shane. Shane's shirtless, the flush of his cheeks spreading down along his neck, his chest. The first button of his jeans is undone, from when he first flopped down onto the bed, and his pants are riding low. Brendon can see the line of his cock in his jeans, see the band of his underwear, and the trail of hair leading down.

Brendon closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then opens them again. He wonders why Shane stopped him, and he wonders what would have happened if Shane hadn't, and he wonders what the fuck he's doing, why he doesn't just go back to his own room already. 

Mostly he wonders why Shane made them stop, but he wants to keep lying here beside Shane more than he wants to know the answer, so he doesn't say anything.

He lies still for a few long minutes, giving them both the chance to catch their breaths, and then he scoots in a little closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of Shane's body. Shane freezes, but he doesn't move away, so Brendon shifts over a little more until he's close enough to lean his forehead against Shane's shoulder.

Shane moves, but just to lace his fingers together, his hands resting on top of his belly. He doesn't dislodge Brendon's head, so Brendon stays where he is, curling himself around Shane's body. Brendon can smell the cream from the back rub, and he can smell Shane's shampoo and he can smell _Shane_ , his skin and his sheets and his pillow. Brendon closes his eyes and breathes.

Brendon's hard-on never goes away, but eventually he starts feeling sleepy. He takes another breath, then rolls away, climbing carefully off of Shane's bed.

"Want the lights off?" he asks, when he's at the entrance to Shane's room.

"It's okay," Shane says, and Brendon nods, leaving the lights alone, and closes the door to Shane's room behind himself.

He walks to the bathroom first, brushes his teeth. He's lost track of time, but it feels late, so he walks back to his bedroom, strips off all of his clothes, and crawls into bed. His sheets feel cool and smooth, and they don't smell like anything.

Brendon's skin still kind of tastes like lotion when he licks his palm, wrapping his hand around his erection.

\--

*

\-- 

*

\--

Shane stumbles over to the kitchen table while Brendon's drinking the last of his cereal-milk out of the bowl. Shane's still in his pyjamas, and Brendon would guess that he only just dragged himself out of bed, even though it's after noon. Brendon has to be at the studio by one, and he's dressed and showered already.

Brendon carries his bowl over to the sink, then walks back to the table.

"You going to eat?" he asks, gesturing to the box of Frosted Flakes on the table.

"Not yet," Shane says, so Brendon closes up the box and puts it away in the cupboard.

Shane yawns loudly, pushing his hair away from his face. He still has a pillow crease on his cheek. Brendon wonders if Shane's back is still stiff, or if he's feeling better today. He doesn't know how to ask without making things awkward.

Brendon looks at the clock on the microwave, then walks over to grab his phone off the counter.

"I've got to get going," he says. "You want me to pick up anything for dinner?"

Shane scrunches up his face, thinking, then says, "Nah, I'm just going to make chicken. We bought those legs and thighs; maybe I'll just cook them in the oven with barbecue sauce. I think we've got some potatoes, too."

"Mashed potatoes?" Brendon asks, his voice coming out a little more enthusiastically than he means it to.

Shane blinks, and then shakes his head, laughing. "Yeah, we can have mashed potatoes," Shane says.

"Awesome," Brendon says. "I dunno what time we're going to be finished, but I'll give you a call when I'm leaving the studio."

"M'kay," Shane says, yawning again.

"I made a big pot of coffee, and put it in the carafe for you," Brendon calls from the hallway, bending over to tie up his shoes. "See you at supper."

"Good luck recording," Shane shouts.

\--

They've been trying to figure out the same five bars for the last two hours.

"I'm going go to take a leak," Brendon finally says, ducking out of the room.

Brendon takes as long as he can in the bathroom, washing his hands twice. He even splashes cold water onto his face.

He walks back into the studio to find Ryan and Spencer arguing about whether or not the song needs more cowbell.

\--

"Hello!" Brendon yells, kicking off his shoes.

"In the kitchen," Shane calls out.

Shane's standing in front of the sink, draining a pot of potatoes.

Brendon grabs the milk and the butter from the fridge. He pours the milk in while Shane hunts around for the potato masher.

Brendon shaves away bits of butter, pushing them away from the wrapper and into the pot with the edge of the metal spoon he's using.

"Dude, I think that's enough," Shane finally says.

"It'll be good," Brendon insists, shaking another chunk in.

"How was recording?" Shane asks.

"Not bad," Brendon says. "What did you get up to?"

"Met with Brian again. The script is basically done, so we're just trying to figure out who's actually going to be in this fucker."

"Cool," Brendon says. "Where are you thinking you're doing to film?"

"I dunno yet," Shane says. "There're a couple of scenes that need to be shot outside, so I guess I've got to start seeing about where we can get shooting permits. Maybe that park that you take Dylan to."

"It's nice there," Brendon says. He sets the butter on the counter, but doesn't move away, standing close beside Shane and watching as he mashes the potatoes.

He zones out for a minute, watching the movement of Shane's hand, then blinks and says, "These look good," just to have something to say.

"Hope so," says Shane. He taps the masher on the side of the bowl to get rid of the last clinging clumps of potatoes, then sets it on the counter, his arm brushing Brendon's t-shirt in the reach.

\--

"'m so full," Brendon groans, patting his belly sadly as he lies on the couch.

"You didn't have to eat _all_ of the potatoes," Shane says, sitting on the floor and scratching Dylan's belly.

"I did," Brendon insists.

"Uh huh."

Shane pushes himself off the floor, then flops down, resting most of his weight on Brendon's stomach.

"No!" Brendon groans, trying to twist away. "I'm going to explode."

"That will be quite the mess of mashed potatoes and blood to clean up," Shane says. "And whatever else Brendons are made of. Maybe some guts and stuff."

"And brains," Brendon says. He pushes himself up so that there's room for the two of them on the couch, and so that Shane's elbow is nowhere near his stomach.

They had a few beers with supper, and now Shane's mouth looks soft and happy. His hair is tucked behind his ears, but there are still pieces flying everywhere. Brendon feels full and warm and kind of horny.

"How's your neck?" Brendon asks.

Shane's face changes a little. He pauses before saying, "Umm, it's good. Thanks."

Brendon nods. They're sitting pressed together on the couch. Brendon has his legs folded up beneath him. He only has to move a few inches to touch his mouth to Shane's, but that's not really a good reason for doing it. There's none of the accidental and confusing intimacy from last night, just the two of them on their couch in their t-shirts. There isn't any good reason for kissing Shane again, except that his mouth looked soft and his eyes were crinkly around the corners. And that Brendon wanted to.

Shane's mouth feels soft too, but it doesn't feel like Shane's kissing back. Brendon tries again, making his mouth gentler, kissing with closed lips and lingering as long as he can, but Shane still doesn't move.

Brendon pulls back.

His hand was resting loosely on Shane's shoulder, and he lets go, cupping both his hands around his thighs and looking down.

"Don't do that," Shane says, really quietly.

"Okay," Brendon says, rubbing his palms up and down so that the denim rasps.

"Just because you saw— just because you saw the other night doesn't mean that, it doesn't mean—"

Brendon is still looking down, so all he can see is Shane's fingers digging into the couch.

"There are about a million other people that you can hook up with," Shane says.

"Okay," says Brendon. "I know that."

"I got over the whole fuck buddy thing when I was— I don't know, after I was your age."

Brendon rolls his eyes — Shane isn't _that_ much older— but Shane continues before he has the chance to say anything.

"So if you're looking for a blowjob you'll have to, fucking, get off our couch and stop being such a lazy bastard." Shane's probably trying to make it into a joke, but it doesn't really work.

"I'm not being lazy," Brendon says. "And I wasn't trying to get you to blow me, so fuck off. I'm not that much of a dick."

Brendon didn't explicitly think to himself that he was going to try to get Shane to give him a blowjob, anyway. It wasn't something that he would have totally taken off the table though. Probably this wouldn't be a good time to mention that.

"Right," Shane says flatly. "Dude, whatever. I go out with you all the time; I already know what all of your lines are, and I already know how this would go."

"You do not," Brendon insists. "Anyway, I was totally planning on blowing you, so stop being such a pussy."

Shane gives him a look that clearly says, _Who do you think you're fooling because you're not fooling me?_

Brendon looks at his hands on his thighs and at Shane's hands on the couch, and he looks up at Shane's face and asks, "Are you still saying no?" He wasn't really planning on saying that, which is probably why his voice sounded all low and weird.

Shane looks him, and Brendon waits for his brain to start freaking out, or for his mouth to blurt out something like, 'Just kidding,' but nothing happens.

Shane looks at him and Brendon looks back.

\--

It's weird how hard it is to actually get Shane's dick wet. Brendon keeps getting stuck, his dry lips catching on skin and refusing to slide down further. It's not like he thinks he's going to be able to get the whole thing inside his mouth — he's not sure how much more there is; it's hard to tell from this angle. Inches? Probably? — but still he thinks this is more awkward than it has to be.

He uses his hand to try and spread some of his saliva down. He has to keep his mouth there, keep trying to suck up more wetness from under his tongue and get it onto Shane's dick before he can move it down with his hand. He hopes that Shane doesn't know what he's doing because obviously he's missing some important step; he can't remember any of this difficulty from all of the times that he's been on the receiving end of a blowjob. Maybe it's just one of those things that you can't tell is happening when it's happening to you. Maybe Shane won't know.

Brendon considers just spitting to be done with it, but he's getting there, and anyway, it's probably a good idea that he's using his hand. Mouths are awesome and soft and wet and hot and soft, mostly, and it's hard to come just from that gentle pressure. Brendon's been with some girls who could get him off with just their mouths, but they could somehow get this _suction_ thing going, and Brendon knows he's not managing anything like that. He doesn't know how they managed it, actually. He has to open his mouth up really wide just to fit Shane's dick inside, and then there are his teeth. He doesn't know how he'd be able to start sucking without closing his mouth some, and then he'd probably clip Shane with his teeth.

Brendon doesn't actually mind teeth all that much: that slow, raw scrape up the bottom of his dick, that dull kind of sharp pleasure. There's probably a trick to that too, though, and anyway Brendon's heard lots of other guys complaining about getting scraped, so it's likely a thing that he's in the minority for liking.

Shane's belly is quivering. Brendon can't see Shane's face because of the angle, but when he looks up, he can see the movement of Shane's stomach. It's good that he can see something. Shane's being so quiet; there're no sounds to go off of and Brendon doesn't know if any of what he's doing is actually working for Shane.

At least his mouth and hand move easily now.

Brendon closes his eyes and pays attention to the feel of Shane's dick moving in his mouth. It's not a bad feeling, even though Brendon's jaw is starting to get tired. Brendon works into a rhythm, bobbing up and down. He moves his hand in time with his mouth, which is probably kind of boring, but Brendon isn't sure what else to do. He feels a little bored, anyway. Hopefully it isn't boring for Shane.

Brendon tightens his hand and gives a hard twist with his tongue each time his mouth pulls up on the head of Shane's dick. It's not long before his tongue gets that weird achy feeling down the center, but it's nowhere near as bad as when he eats out girls, so he just keeps on going.

Brendon's drooling all down his hand now. It's too wet, probably. Hard to get the balance right there. He closes his lips tighter and tries to swallow some of his saliva away, and Shane makes this noise, just soft and breathy, but Brendon's never heard him sound like that before. Brendon tries to replicate what he did to get the noise, keeps trying to suck, and Shane doesn't make that noise again, but he makes another one, lower this time, and then all of a sudden there's bitterness flooding Brendon's mouth.

Brendon thinks that maybe he'll just wait here and then find somewhere to spit it out, but there's so much, way more than he can fit in his mouth, given how much space Shane's dick is already taking up. Brendon tries to swallow, but it doesn't really work and mostly Brendon just ends up slobbering everywhere and trying not to gag.

He pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and tries to use his arm to hide the face that he's making. It's not a personal insult or whatever, but Brendon knows it's bad etiquette to critique another dude's jizz. He always hates it when girls make a fuss.

Shane isn't wearing any pants, but he's still got his t-shirt on. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his thighs are spread apart, resting loosely on either side of Brendon's knees. Brendon's still fully clothed. Brendon's not used to being the person in the room who's wearing the most clothes.

Brendon rubs at his face again, using his other hand because the first one is still all sticky. He kind of wants to blow his nose; hopefully he didn't accidentally snort up any of Shane's spunk.

Brendon looks at Shane's thighs for a little while, just because they're right there. He spreads out his fingers over Shane's bare skin. Shane's a little bit paler and a little bit pinker than Brendon is.

Shane's still awake, but he's breathing really deeply and blinking really slowly, and Brendon moves to one side of Shane, lying down on the bed and resting his head on Shane's stomach.

Brendon's still hard, which kind of surprises him. Not so hard that he has to do anything about it right away, though. He's okay just lying here for a minute.

Shane reaches down and cards his fingers through Brendon's hair, and it's embarrassing how good it feels to be touched like that. Brendon turns so that he's lying on his back, his body sideways on the bed. This way, when Shane's hand sweeps through Brendon's hair, his palm brushes over Brendon's forehead, too.

Brendon can feel Shane's belly move as he breathes. If Brendon weren't still dressed, maybe he'd be getting cold now. He wonders if Shane's cold. Shane's hand doesn't feel cold. His palm is just a little cooler than Brendon's forehead, but Brendon always runs at a higher body temperature anyway.

Shane keeps stroking his hand over Brendon's forehead, pushing his hair back. He does it enough times that Brendon's hair starts staying back all on its own. Brendon kind of feels like he doesn't want to look Shane in the face, and he kind of wishes that he weren't wearing clothes right now, and he kind of wants to be back in his own room, and he kind of wants to just fall asleep right here.

Shane's hand rests of Brendon's forehead for a moment, and then his fingers move down, trailing over Brendon's cheek. His thumb brushes Brendon's lip, just awkwardly from the side but somehow after that Brendon's whole body feels hot. He's still hard, but it's worse now because he's hard and also his belly feels tight, and Shane's thumb moves over Brendon's lip again. Brendon opens his mouth, just a little, just a tiny bit so that his lips aren't pressed tightly together. Shane presses his thumb to the center of Brendon's lip, and it makes Brendon want to open his mouth and it makes Brendon want something to bite down on.

He exhales, loud and shaky, then sits up, pushing Shane's hand away in the process.

Shane doesn't say anything, even though Brendon sits at the edge of the bed for a minute, waiting, so Brendon stands up and walks out of Shane's room, walks to his own bedroom and closes the door.

He yanks off all of his own clothes and lies down on top of the comforters and starts to jerk off, his dick wet with only precome. He thinks about how he didn't lock the door and he thinks about how Shane's room is down the hall and how Shane isn't asleep yet, and how Shane could walk over.

It's kind of weird that Shane's in the category of people that Brendon associates with sex, now. He doesn't think that Shane was always in that category. Probably not before Brendon knew that Shane hooks up with dudes, anyway. Brendon doesn't know what changed, except that maybe he'd never really thought it was was an option before.

Brendon cups his balls with one hand, pulls up hard with the other one, and comes all over his own chest.

\--

*

\--

Brendon walks into the kitchen to pick up his keys.

"I used up the last of the milk," Shane says, sitting at the table and eating a bowl of cereal.

"Kay, I'll buy more on the way home. We need anything else?" Brendon asks.

"Maybe grab another box of some kind of cereal," Shane says. "We need to go on a full grocery trip. Maybe I'll go tomorrow. Anyway, just get something so that there'll be breakfast for a few days in case I don't."

"Yeah, sure," Brendon says. "I haven't fed Dylan yet, and she needs to go outside."

"Will do," Shane says.

"Have you seen my stripy hoodie?"

"Which stripy hoodie?" Shane asks.

"The green one."

"I think that's in the wash," Shane says. "You're just going to the studio, though, you don't need a hoodie."

"What's that?" Brendon asks, walking to the table and grabbing the sweater that's hanging off the back of the chair. "Is this mine?"

"I think it's mine," Shane says.

Brendon pulls it over his head, without bothering with the zipper.

"See you tonight," Brendon says, reaching out and touching his fingers to Shane's shoulder as he walks by.

\--

They finish recording the song that'll probably be their next single, and then they decide to head for the parking lot to take a little break.

"We should have had Shane here filming," Ryan says, passing the joint over to Jon.

"Yeah, we could've have some kind of behind the scenes at the recording studio thing," Jon says. "Maybe he could come in on Monday and we could pretend to record it again."

"Or he could film us recording another song," Spencer says.

"Or he could film us pretending to record another song," Jon agrees.

Spencer grabs the joint away from Jon.

"We'll have more than one single," Brendon says. "He could film whatever and we'll figure something out. He's, um, he's working on this short film, so I dunno when he'd have time to come down."

Brendon had his mouth on Shane's dick last night. He wonders if anyone can tell.

"Ask him when he'll have time," Spencer says.

"Yeah, ask, ask him when he can come down to record us pretending to film something," Jon says in a tight voice, because he's trying to speak without actually exhaling.

\--

"We were wondering if you'd have a chance to come down and film us in the studio sometime next week," Brendon calls out as he unloads the groceries he bought.

Shane's watching TV and he calls out, "When were you thinking?"

Brendon puts the milk in the fridge and grabs a couple bottles of beer.

"I dunno," he says, sitting down on the couch beside Shane and passing one of the bottles to him. "I told them that you're already working on something. So, just kind of whenever's good for you, I guess."

"That'd be cool," Shane says. "Just let me double check with Brian, and I'll let you know."

Brendon takes a long sip of beer, then reaches down to scratch Dylan's head. Dylan is lying on the floor, her chin resting on one of Brendon's feet.

"Pizza will be here soon," Shane says. "I made the order like ten minutes before you got in the door."

"Cool," Brendon says, resting the bottle on his stomach, his fingers wrapped loosely around it, and leaning back.

He looks sideways at Shane, but Shane's staring straight forward at the TV.

\--

*

\--

Brendon has the day off, and he can't decide if he should just stay in bed all afternoon, or if he should try and get some shopping done. He kind of wants to buy a new pair of sneakers, but he's run out of room in his closet, so he'd probably have to do some cleaning first. He knows for sure that he doesn't feel like doing any cleaning. Maybe he could just sneak some of his other shoes into Shane's closet.

Brendon looks at his bedside table, trying to see if he left his phone there. Maybe he'll send Spencer a text and see if he's busy this afternoon. Spencer's always the most fun to look for shoes with.

"I'll see you in a bit," Shane calls out.

Brendon gets out of bed and walks down the hall.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To coffee," Shane says. "With Regan."

"Dude, what?" Brendon says. "You're getting back together with her?"

"What? No," Shane says. " _Coffee_."

"Uh huh," Brendon says.

"We're still friends," Shane says. "Friends go for coffee with each other sometimes."

"Sure thing," Brendon says. "Have fun being _friends_."

Shane rolls his eyes. "So, next time she calls, I should tell her that we can't meet for coffee because we've broken up?"

"I'm not saying that," Brendon says. "It's cool. Whatever. It's just that I would have thought it'd be awkward to see her so soon after breaking up, you know? 'Cause, what? You dated and now, what, you're just going to go back to being friends?"

"Sometimes people can just break up because the relationship doesn't work," Shane snaps. "It doesn't always mean that they stop liking each other, or that they never liked each other in the first place, or whatever the fuck else you've learned from the obviously deeply meaningful _relationships_ you've had."

"Fuck off," Brendon mutters, turning around and walking back to his bedroom. He lets the door slam shut, then stands in the center of the room, listening for the sounds of Shane leaving the house. It takes a little bit, but eventually Brendon hears the front door open and close, and Brendon can go into the living room and turn on the Wii.

\--

He's still playing when Shane comes back home. He can hear Shane standing in the doorway, but he stares at the screen and keeps playing until finally Shane walks the rest of the way into the room and sits down on the couch beside him.

Brendon counts to ten in his head and then presses pause.

He doesn't say anything, and Shane doesn't say anything, and the moment stretches on and on until Brendon gets bored enough to break the silence.

"How was coffee?" he asks.

"Fine," Shane says.

"When are you seeing her again?"

"I dunno," Shane says. Then, "Seriously, Brendon, I'm not getting back together with her."

"Fine," Brendon says. "Cool. Okay, fine."

"You're such a fucking dickwad about this stuff."

"Fuck you," Brendon says. "What stuff?"

"Stuff about, like, the people you fuck, that stuff. I know it's incomprehensible for you to be friends with someone after you've stuck your dick inside of them, but it's not like that for everyone."

"That's bullshit," Brendon says, jumping off the couch and standing in the center of the room with his arms crossed against his chest. "Anyway, that's not with people I'm dating, so fuck off."

"Because you don't date anyone," Shane says. "You never— it's always just sex for you."

Brendon opens his mouth to fire something back, but he makes himself take a breath first. "I don't think I know what you're talking about," Brendon finally says.

"You always, like, you're always just fucking around, and, I mean." Shane scrubs his hand through his hair. "We're roommates."

"I know we're roommates," Brendon says, slowly. "I'm not going to fuck that up. We'll always be roommates."

Shane goes even tenser, and then rubs his forehead. "Yeah, sure. Got it. Okay."

"Okay," Brendon repeats. Brendon's not too sure what's going on here, but Shane looks pissed and Brendon feels awkward.

He waits to see if Shane says anything else, but Shane stays quiet.

"Um, do you want to order food tonight?" Brendon asks. "We could get it from that Chinese place you like."

Shane's quiet for a moment, like he's still angry and he hasn't decided if he's going to let it go, but in the end he rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, fine. We can order from the Chinese place."

"Or somewhere else, if you want," Brendon offers.

"Chinese is fine," Shane says. "Call me when it gets here." And then he gets up and walks off to his bedroom.

Brendon stands in the room by himself, and replays the conversation in his head. That doesn't help to make any more sense of it.

He uncrosses his arms, rubs the back of his neck, and then starts searching for the menu to the Chinese restaurant that Shane likes.

\--

"I had jalapeno and cheddar spring rolls once," Brendon insists.

"Dude, that's not a fucking spring roll," Shane says, rolling his eyes. The meal started off awkward, but they've each had a few bottles of beer, and now Shane's actually engaging in conversation instead of just nodding along while Brendon babbles.

"Well, that's what they were called," Brendon says.

"You can't have spring rolls with _cheese_ ," Shane says.

"Kay, except that I did," Brendon says. He's mostly just trying to get a rise out of Shane at this point.

Shane huffs. He grabs the last spring roll out of the container in the center of the table. "I'm eating this," he announces. "Since you don't even know how to appreciate it."

Brendon shrugs, then surreptitiously tries to drop a little bit of rice onto the floor for Dylan, who's sitting at his feet and staring up at him.

"Stop feeding the dog," Shane says, without looking up.

\--

*

\--

"We should go out tonight," Shane says, once they've finished putting the leftover pizza in the fridge.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "I'd be down with that." It's been a long week of recording, but he's got the weekend off. There was pizza waiting for him when he got home and it's shaping up to be a pretty sweet night. He can feel himself starting to unwind.

Shane bends over and pulls the bottle of vodka out of the freezer. He lifts it up and shakes it gently, and Brendon nods, _yeah_ , turning around to grab a shot glass.

Shane unscrews the top and takes a couple of long drinks.

\--

Brendon's happy and drunk and still kind of stoned from earlier and he wants to dance.

It's crowded but not packed. When Brendon lifts up his arms, he can feel bodies all around him. There's enough space to move, though. He lifts up his arms and closes his eyes and moves with the music.

He and Shane do that bro-dancing thing, where they stand side by side, kind of, with plenty of space in between them. It's not long before a couple of girls dance in a little closer. Brendon watches Shane out of the corner of his eye, and when Shane's hands end up on the hips of one girl, Brendon lets himself do the same.

The girl he's dancing with is wearing a purple halter top that lifts to show her navel. Her skirt flares out a little and it moves when she dances. Brendon moves his hands from her hips to her lower back, feeling bare skin.

Shane's off to Brendon's right. There are people in between them, but Brendon can still see Shane. Brendon had thought that Shane was into partying tonight — he drank more than Brendon did while they were waiting for the cab to come — but now that they're at the club, he looks kind of— kind of like he's not really into it after all.

Brendon wonders if Shane drank too much.

The girl he's dancing with turns in his arms, and Brendon's fingers end up on her stomach. He can feel the way her stomach tightens as she rolls her hips back against his. Her skin is soft and sticky.

Shane is still dancing, but he looks tired. The girl keeps trying to start grinding with him, but it doesn't look like he's helping much.

Brendon's girl turns back around to face him, and he smiles at her.

The song ends and another one starts and when Brendon looks over again, Shane isn't where he last was. Brendon thinks he's lost him for a moment, but then he sees that Shane's actually walking toward him.

"I'm not really — I'm just going to get a cab," Shane says. He's standing close beside Brendon and yelling to make up for the volume of the music. "I'll catch you later."

Shane starts walking out of the club without waiting for an answer.

"Sorry," Brendon mouths to the girl he was dancing with, and then he takes off after Shane, pushing his way through the crowd. Shane makes it outside before Brendon does, and Brendon ends up having to yell, "Wait up," down the street.

Shane turns around, giving Brendon the chance to catch up.

"I'm just going to peace out," Shane says. "I'll see you later."

"No, it's cool," Brendon says. "We can just watch a movie or something."

"You should stay," Shane says, slurring his s's a little.

"Nah, I'm kind of hungry for leftover pizza, anyway," Brendon says.

They've been walking down the street together, fast, since Shane's setting the pace, but then Shane stops abruptly.

"I'm not going to— I'm not hooking up with you tonight," Shane says. There are other people around, and Shane's doing that loud whisper thing.

"Okay," Brendon says. "Yeah, I know."

"So you should just— go back in there," Shane says. "There's no reason for you to follow me home."

"Yeah, it's just that I'm kind of hungry, anyway," Brendon repeats. "And maybe we could watch a movie."

Shane makes a frustrated noise, and then turns around and starts walking again.

They don't speak during the cab ride, and when they get back to their place, Shane storms into the house while Brendon lingers behind to pay.

He walks into the house and finds Shane on his hands and knees in front of the toilet, throwing up.

Shane doesn't like anyone too close when he's puking, so Brendon slides to the floor of the bathroom, leaning back against the bathtub.

Shane sits back on his heels. He's all sweaty and his eyes are glassy.

"How much did you have to drink?" Brendon asks, reaching behind himself to grab a washcloth out of the tub. He passes it over to Shane.

Shane wipes his face. "I dunno," he says. "More than I meant to. I was drinking while I was waiting for the pizza to get here, too. Beer before liquor and all that."

Brendon makes a sympathetic face. He's ended a night of drinking with a round of puking more times than he can count. Brendon's a puker, though. Shane usually just ends up with horrible hangovers.

"You done now?" Brendon asks.

Shane sits quietly for a minute then says, "Yeah, I think so."

Brendon climbs to his feet, then helps Shane stand up, too.

Shane sways, so Brendon leaves a hand on his shoulder, guiding him over to the sink.

"Still drunk?" Brendon asks, and Shane nods unhappily. If he's still drunk after puking, it means that he's either doing to keep puking, or he's going to be feeling like shit tomorrow. Maybe both.

"You brush your teeth, and I'm going to get you some water."

"I'm definitely going to puke if I drink water," Shane says, reaching for his toothbrush.

"Just a little," Brendon says.

He walks to the kitchen and fills up a big glass with water. When he comes back to the bathroom, the toothbrush is still in Shane's mouth, and there's toothpaste dripping down his chin. Brendon grabs the handle of the toothbrush, and waits while Shane rinses his mouth, then passes him the glass of water.

Shane takes a couple of sips before trying to pass it back.

"Just a little more," Brendon says.

Shane takes a couple more sips, then gives the glass back to Brendon. Brendon just sets it on the counter — he'll get it in the morning or something — then walks with Shane to his bedroom.

Shane pulls off his t-shirt and jeans, then lies down on top of his comforters, while Brendon turns off the lights.

"Roll over," Brendon says, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling until Shane has moved over enough. "'Kay, there." Brendon helps cover Shane up.

Shane lies on his back and closes his eyes, and Brendon sits on the edge of the bed. He pushes Shane's hair away from his face, then touches lightly over Shane's cheeks, his forehead.

Shane opens his eyes and Brendon freezes. Shane doesn't say anything though, just lies there and watches Brendon in the dark, and Brendon combs his fingers through Shane's hair and waits until Shane's eyes close again.

Eventually, Shane rolls over, turning toward the middle of the bed.

Brendon lies down, still pushed close to the edge of the bed. He wraps his arm around Shane's waist, just so that he has something to hold on to.

\--

Brendon wakes, and he still knows where he is and why he's there, so that must mean that he wasn't asleep for too long. He's cold though, lying there in a t-shirt.

Instead of going back to his own room, he squirms around until he finds the edge of the blanket, and then wiggles under the comforters, where it's warm from Shane's body heat.

Brendon scoots over until he's closer to the center of the bed and presses himself up along Shane's back, resting his forehead against Shane's shoulder.

\--

"Stop throwing up so that we can go back to bed," Brendon says, scratching his belly and squinting in the early morning light. He leans against the door frame of the bathroom.

Shane lifts his hand up with his middle finger raised, and continues retching into the toilet.

\--

"You wanna smoke up?" Brendon asks. "Maybe that would help your stomach."

Shane looks over at Brendon. He's lying on the couch, covered in blankets. There's a water glass on the table in front of him, but it's still mostly full.

"I think I'm just going to stay here and wait for death," Shane says. "Thanks anyway."

"M'kay," Brendon says, leaning over to give Shane's toe a squeeze. "I'm going to go walk Dylan. I promise not to do anything weird with your corpse when I get back."

"Thanks," Shane mumbles, pulling his blankets up higher.

\--

*

\--

"Morning, sunshine," Brendon says when Shane finally stumbles out of his bedroom the next day.  
Shane grunts out something like, _Morning_ , lifting his hands up and arching his back, stretching.

He yawns loudly then says, "Wanna try and make pancakes?"

"Oh, _today_ you're hungry," Brendon laughs, following Shane into the kitchen.

\--

The chocolate chips totally aren't melting, even though the pancakes are still steaming. Isn't chocolate supposed to melt easily? They must have some defective chocolate chips or something. Brendon totally should have just used chocolate sauce, like Shane did.

Instead, he melts on some more butter.

\--

"The good thing about being hungover is that the next day you feel so good," Shane says, drawing out the o's in the last two words.

Brendon laughs. Shane passes him a mixing bowl and Brendon starts wiping it with the dish towel.

"So the next time you're hugging porcelain I should remind you of this?" Brendon asks.

"Maybe not while I'm actually in the process of puking," Shane says, making a face. He rinses off the spatula and passes it to Brendon.

Shane finishes washing the dishes, then turns to Brendon, holding his hand out for the dish towel so that he can dry his hands off. Shane's t-shirt is wet across the belly from dishwater. His hair is greasy and he hasn't shaved in a couple of days, and when he reaches for the dish towel, Brendon keeps hold of one end, and then he bounces up on his toes and kisses Shane softly on the mouth. He lingers for a moment, then rests back on his heels. They're still each holding one end of the dish towel.

Shane licks his lips, then closes his mouth, looking down and frowning.

"I don't get what your thing is," he says, quietly. "Have I managed to turn this into some kind of challenge for you?"

"What?" Brendon asks, recoiling in surprise. "What? No. It's not a _thing_ and it's not a _challenge_. It's just— you. It's just you."

"You never even hook up with dudes," Shane says.

"Sometimes I hook up with dudes," Brendon says.

Shane makes an _I don't believe you_ face, which is maybe a diss on Brendon's blowjob skills, but Brendon chooses not to dwell on that.

"I have," Brendon says. Brendon's gotten blowjobs from guys before; he has hooked up with dudes.

"Either way. I like this," Shane says, gesturing around the kitchen. Around their kitchen. "I'm not going to let you fuck this up for us."

Brendon looks Shane right in the eye and says, "I know you're not. That's kind of the point."

"Brendon, _what_?" Shane says. "Can you just actually say what you're thinking for once?"

"I guess, I mean, I guess I just used to think that we already had everything there was to have, and now I think that, you know. I think that we could have more." Brendon starts fiddling with the edge of the dish towel until he remembers that Shane's still holding the other end and he forces his hands into stillness.

"I told you," Shane says. "I'm over the whole fuck buddies thing."

"I'm not talking about fuck buddies," Brendon says.

"You never date," says Shane.

"I think that I never really wanted to because, because I always got everything else from you," Brendon says. He bites the inside of his cheek and quirks his lips to the side.

It sounds pretty stupid now that he's actually said it out loud. It sounded pretty stupid in his head, too, so he tried not to think about it too much.

It'll feel even stupider if Shane doesn't know what he's talking about.

Shane says, "Oh," then stands quietly for a long minute.

Brendon wonders what he's thinking, and then he decides that he's glad he doesn't know. He wouldn't mind a little hint though.

Finally Brendon blurts out, "You said that you weren't going to let me fuck this up, so, now, if I've, I mean. So, if I was wrong, you can't, you can't, you have to — you said you weren't going to let me fuck this up."

Shane lets go of the towel, and reaches for Brendon instead, cupping his arms just above the elbow. He says, "You weren't wrong," and really that's all that Brendon needed to hear, because he surges up after that, tilting his face for a kiss, and Shane meets him halfway.

It was hot before, kissing Shane. It was hot before, but nothing like what it's like now, because Shane has his hands on Brendon's arms and he pushes him backwards until Brendon's backed up against the counter and kisses Brendon back.

Brendon arches forward. He waits until Shane lets go of his arms before reaching for him, wrapping one hand around his neck and reaching for his hip with the other. Shane slides his thigh in between Brendon's legs and Brendon grunts and shivers and sucks on Shane's tongue.

It kind of feels like all these little pieces sliding into place and it kind of feels like Brendon's going to come in his pants. He bites Shane's lip, hard, and Shane just pushes his thigh up and grinds their hips together.

They finally break apart, breathing harshly. Brendon leaves his fingers curled around Shane's neck, and Shane ducks his head to press their foreheads together.

"Let's go to bed," Brendon whispers.

Shane nods and lets Brendon pull him by the hand down the hall and into his bedroom.

\--

Brendon's totally had fingers up his ass before. Girls sometimes like to do that when they're giving blowjobs, and Brendon never makes a fuss. Letting a girl put her fingers up his ass is one of the best ways to ensure that she'll let him put his dick up her ass. It feels good, or it feels fine or whatever. It's not _bad_ , but it's not something that Brendon likes enough to do when he's by himself.

Except that it's never felt like this before. Brendon doesn't even know what Shane's doing, but he's got two fingers in Brendon's ass and his mouth around Brendon's dick and Brendon's legs started shaking and they won't stop.

Brendon doesn't think that Shane's hinting at anything; he started blowing Brendon and then he pulled off and leaned over to grab the bottle of cream off the floor, and then he slid his finger in slowly. He went back to blowing Brendon after that, and he's got this rhythm going, this up and down thing and there's suction and his mouth is really fucking wet, not like he's just trying to keep Brendon interested or anything; like he's trying to get Brendon off. And Brendon is. Brendon's going to come, it's just that Shane's fingers are doing this thing and it doesn't even feel like anything in particular except that something about it is making Brendon sweat.

Brendon spreads his thighs even wider and tilts his hips up, which is great because it gets his dick further into Shane's mouth and Shane's fingers further into Brendon's ass.

Brendon is totally going to come like a motherfucker any minute now, except that he doesn't quite want to.

Shane pulls up, sucking hard the whole time, and then his tongue starts licking over the head of Brendon's dick and his fingers twist in and up, and, "Oh shit, fuck. Stop," Brendon gasps. "Stop."

Shane pulls his head up, just to quickly say, "Sorry," and then he moves his fingers out of Brendon's ass and he doesn't put them back in.

He pulls his fingers out and he starts blowing Brendon again, and, "No, shit, I mean." Brendon touches his hand gently to Shane's head and tries to pull him off without tugging on his hair. "Not, um. Not — can you keep, can you keep doing that with your fingers?"

Shane looks surprised, and says, "This?"

He starts rubbing his fingers over Brendon's hole again, so Brendon says, "Yeah, _yes_ ," because he doesn't want for there to be any confusion.

Shane's fingers feel good, even without his mouth on Brendon's dick. It doesn't feel as much like Brendon's going to shoot off immediately, but that's good, too, in a weird way. Brendon feels like his skin is frying and there's this dull flare spreading through his pelvis and Shane is hardly moving his hand so Brendon doesn't know how things can feel this intense, but they do.

He lifts his arm up to wipe the sweat off of his face and then leaves it there, his forearm covering his eyes, when he says, "Shane, come on."

"What?" Shane asks. He twists his hand around so that his thumb is rubbing up against the skin behind Brendon's balls and jesus, fuck, fuck.

Brendon gasps, " _Shane_ ," and then he says, "get a fucking condom already."

Shane freezes.

Brendon pulls his arm away from his eyes and asks, "What?"

"Have you, have you done that before?" Shane asks.

Brendon shakes his head, and then Shane shakes his head right back. "I'll blow you," he says.

Brendon pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down at Shane.

"I want to fuck," Brendon says.

Shane says, "You don't have to prove anything." He rubs his clean hand over Brendon's thigh. Brendon wonders if he can feel the way the muscles are still kind of shaking there. Shane's fingers are still in his ass, but they aren't moving like they were before, so the shaking has gotten a little better.

"I know that," Brendon says. He lies back down. "So stop being a pussy and go get a fucking condom already."

Shane pulls his hand away entirely and crawls up the bed, lying down beside Brendon. He holds himself up with one elbow and thumbs Brendon's nipple with his other hand.

"I totally don't even have any condoms," Shane says. "Why don't we just, I dunno, we can just work up to it."

Shane's thumb rubs in a circle and Brendon's dick twitches. He's pretty close to dying of blue balls here, but he stays quiet because he thinks there's something else that Shane has to say.

"I don't want this to be— I don't want it to be too much for you, and then you freak out, or maybe it wasn't what you thought it was going to be, or, I don't know, whatever," Shane admits.

Brendon rolls in, curving his body toward Shane's. "I want to do this because your fingers felt good," he says. "And because I want to fuck, and because I want to fuck with _you_ , and because I meant what I said, okay? I'm not going to take it back."

Brendon gets momentarily distracted by Shane's thumb.

"So, are you saying this because you actually don't want to fuck, or because you're trying to be nice about it?" Brendon asks.

Shane grins. "I'm just trying to be nice," he says, rolling his hips forward and grinding his erection against Brendon's hip.

"That's what I thought," Brendon says. "I'm going to go get condoms from my room."

He kisses Shane quickly, then climbs off the bed and walks over to his room, his boner bobbing in front of him the whole time.

He grabs the whole box and a tube of real lube as well, since apparently Shane doesn't have that either, and then he walks back into Shane's room and flops down on top of Shane, dropping the condoms and lube on the bed beside them.

They kiss for a while, rubbing together, because Shane's naked and Brendon's naked and all the skin feels good, and then Shane rolls Brendon onto his back and slicks up his fingers with lube and starts fucking him open. It doesn't feel the same as it did before; it feels like Shane's stretching him, and it kind of hurts and it kind of makes Brendon's dick even harder.

Shane moves his fingers in and out and yes, okay, _yes_ , Brendon wants this.

"Any time now," he grits out.

Shane doesn't say anything this time. Just nods quickly and fumbles with the box of condoms, tearing the wrapper with his teeth and rolling on the rubber with one smooth stroke. He drips more lube onto his cock, even though the condoms are already lubricated, and then he says, "Roll over," in this voice that makes Brendon's gut clench.

He rolls over, pushing himself onto his hands and knees, and Shane grabs his ass and holds him still and pushes his dick inside. It really, really fucking hurts, so Brendon bends forward, resting his weight on one elbow, and reaches for his dick with his other hand, trying to distract himself.

It really fucking hurts, but Shane doesn't move, he just pushes inside and holds still and Brendon jerks himself off. Touching his dick helps, even though Shane's dick up his ass feels fucking huge and hurts like a motherfucker.

It gets a little easier, the longer they wait.

Shane rocks forward, just a little, just enough to bring the flare back. Brendon shudders, and pushes back, and then Shane's fucking him and he's actually moving, and Brendon can hear the sound of their skin slapping together. His arm starts to tremble.

Shane fucks him, and Brendon's getting fucked, and he's totally going to come. He's going to come from being fucked, and his hand on his dick is just to make sure he gets there, but he's going to come from Shane fucking him, and Shane works into this fast rhythm and he just keeps going and Brendon comes. He comes hard, and he comes really fucking fast, but whatever, Shane blew him for like ten hours beforehand. Brendon's only human.

Shane's hands tighten on Brendon's hips, which actually feels good, especially when Shane moves his hand to press onto Brendon's lower back.

There's something about being fucked that extends his orgasm, even though it's intense and just on this side of _too much_. Shane keeps fucking Brendon and Brendon pants into the pillow and tries to keep holding himself up. His thighs burn from staying on his knees like this, and his ass is starting to feel raw, but it's okay because Shane comes pretty quickly afterwards, and it's really fucking hot to feel the way Shane's hips lose the rhythm and just push in deep as he jerks through orgasm.

Shane slumps against Brendon's back, and then he pulls away slowly, which still makes a gross squelching noise, and also reminds Brendon of the way his ass is throbbing.

They sort their limbs out and lie down on the bed, side to side. Brendon's body feels achy, but in a completely satisfied kind of way. Shane rolls over and spoons up behind Brendon, and even though it makes their sweaty skin stick together, it's nice.

"You okay?" Shane mumbles in Brendon's ear.

Brendon nods, arching back so that their bodies line up even better. He thinks that he might fall asleep, just doze off for a little while, when the silence is broken by Dylan, who starts scratching at the door and whining.

"Go feed her," Brendon says, kicking at Shane's calf.

"You feed her," Shane says.

"I need to rest my ass," Brendon says, kicking at Shane again. "You have to go."

"Fine," Shane says, pushing out of bed. "But just this time. You don't get to keep using that one."

"We'll see," Brendon yells to Shane's back as Shane walks out of the room. "We shall see."

"So does that mean that if I bottom next time you'll do the dishes?" Shane shouts back.

"I dunno," Brendon answers. "How about we try that and find out?"

Brendon stretches out in the bed. His ass is now itchy, which is kind of fucked up and totally, totally annoying. He wiggles his toes, then pushes himself up and gets out of bed.

He walks, naked, over to the kitchen, where Shane, also naked, is crouched over, pouring dog food into the bowl.

Brendon waits until Shane is standing, then comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Shane's waist.

"I'm going to have a shower," he says, pushing up on his toes so that he can rest his chin on Shane's shoulder. "You are invited."

Shane leans back against him, and covers Brendon's hands with his own.

"Okay," he says. "But we're not fucking in the shower."

"Of course we're not fucking in the shower," Brendon says. "Until we find some lube that doesn't wash away in the water."

They walk to the bathroom, and Shane turns on the shower. As they wait for the water to heat up, they stand side-by-side in front of the mirror and brush their teeth, and when they kiss Shane's tongue tastes sweet and minty.

"You want to take Dylan to the park after?" Brendon asks, following Shane into the shower.

"We could do that," Shane says. "Or we could go back to bed." He ducks his head under the shower stream, then steps aside so that Brendon can do the same.

"Or we could go back to bed," Brendon agrees, and runs his hands down Shane's wet back.

Shane grins, and backs Brendon up against the shower wall.

\--

*

\--

"Is that a wrap?" Jon asks.

"Mhh, yeah, I guess so," Shane says.

Brendon looks up from where he's sitting at the piano and sees Shane pointing the camera at him. Shane switches it off, then slowly lowers it.

"You guys know that you haven't actually recorded a song today, right?" Shane asks.

"Yes, but did it look like we were pretending to record a single?" Jon asks.

Shane looks at Brendon and scrunches his eyebrows together. Brendon just shrugs one shoulder and grins.

"Do you have time to come back again this week?" Spencer asks.

Shane looks up for a moment then says, "Yeah, sure. On Thursday?"

"We'll definitely have something ready to finish off on Thursday," Ryan says. "It'll be good."

"In the meantime, we should go and celebrate," Jon says.

"What're we celebrating?" Ryan asks. They stand side-by-side and put their instruments in the cases.

"Oh, what, we need a reason now?" Jon says.

\--

It's a little early in the evening, so the club isn't especially crowded. Ryan walks them over to a booth and Shane slides in and then Brendon slides in beside him. Since Brendon's sitting on the edge, he orders a couple of pitchers and a round of shots for the table.

"Rye?" Jon asks, giving Brendon a strange look.

"I thought we should try something different," Brendon says, shrugging. "Hey, so what did you think of the new songs?" Brendon asks Shane.

"Fucking awesome, dude," Shane says.

"Yeah? You think so?"

"For sure. Little less cannibalism content than I was expecting," Shane says.

Brendon shoves at Shane with his shoulder, says, "Hey now," and then stays where he is, pressed up right beside Shane.

\--

They've finished both the pitchers of beer, and they're trying to decide if they should order another round.

"We've got to record again tomorrow," Spencer says.

"But we're celebrating," Jon says.

"He does have a point," says Ryan.

"You want to get another?" Brendon asks Shane.

Shane shrugs. "You?"

"I think we should smoke up when we get home," Brendon says.

"Party at Brendon'n'Shane's house," Ryan says.

"Umm, yeah, sure, okay," Brendon says. "You'll have to leave pretty early though, because, um, because we need to get an early night, so. Just for a quick smoke."

Brendon feels something touching his elbow and turns around to see a chick with long, bright red hair standing beside their table. She's got one hand resting on the booth beside Brendon's head, which is kind of clever because it allows her to bend over and get her cleavage right in Brendon's face.

"... Hi," Brendon says, craning his neck to try and see her face.

"Hey," she says. "I was just sitting over there," she gestures toward the bar with her chin, "and I was wondering if you wanted to buy me a drink."

"We're actually going to be taking off pretty soon," he says, turning his body so that he's facing the group and wiggling into the booth more. "Sorry."

"If you change your mind," she says, trailing off, and then walks away.

"I think we're going to order another round," Ryan says. "Me and Jon are definitely splitting one, anyway."

"So, you'd have time if you wanted to—" Jon wiggles his eyebrows and then shoves his tongue into his cheek, making a blowjob face.

"Thanks for that," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "But I'm good."

Brendon rotates his body again, resting his elbow on the edge of the booth by his head so that he's facing Shane, with his back to the rest of the club.

He asks, "Hey, so, do you think you got enough to cut together a music video? Like one of those bonus content ones you did the last time?"

Shane's eyes are all crinkly around the corners and he says, "I think we'll be able to work something out."

\+ [ Coda](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/139664.html).


End file.
